


The Wayward Chevalier

by Child_of_Azeroth



Series: The Templar [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft (Comics), World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Canon Rewrite, Dark, Drama & Romance, F/M, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Romance, Tragic Romance, Warcraft Lore, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28128981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Child_of_Azeroth/pseuds/Child_of_Azeroth
Summary: The Black Empire looms over the realm of Azeroth and her denizens. And yet, despite The Corruptor being in reach of His twisted victory, The Black Prince and his champions do not relent.Wrathion is determined to push all of his values aside, in order to free the world from the grasp of the void and assume his destined the mantle of the Earth-Warder, once the black dragonflight have been redeemed.Meanwhile, Tieria – broken from the touch of N’zoth – is searching within her soul and her past, for the reason she has become a templar, and whenever or not did the Light itself intervene in her fate.
Relationships: Wrathion (Warcraft)/Original Character(s), Wrathion (Warcraft)/Original Female Character(s), Wrathion (Warcraft)/Other(s)
Series: The Templar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967914
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Depletion

**Author's Note:**

> Part II here! (slightly later than anticipated) I still cannot believe I have pulled through with this story, I am eternally grateful to you readers for making it possible!  
> As before, I will try to keep up with my ordinary a chapter-every-2-weeks schedule.
> 
> Please enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> Feedback and comments are always welcome! ♥
> 
> You can also read it on Fanfiction.net!

_Echoes of sinister laughter. Screeches of insectoids. Rocks collapsing, breaking apart and scattering dust everywhere on the horizon. Dagger plunged itself into a corrupted flesh, drinking in black blood._

_More footsteps began marching upon the unholy ground. Their heavy steps caused an earthquake, and they rallied to eradicate the attackers. Weapons were clashing into one another; magic being casted, mortal bodies were falling shattered. And the sinister laugh only intensified, chuckling darkly as His plan was unfolding flawlessly._

_The anguishing spirits were withdrawing from their broken vessels; crossing the veil to eternity. Few tried to flee for their lives, hoping to escape the horrific battle and its pathetic defeat.  
She heard crying voices, and then her own voice, screaming in agony, whilst feeling as if someone was searing her alive._

_More dark servants crossed the threshold of the battle. Stomping upon the crumbled warriors in the name of the Master. An earthquake arose alongside an order of attack, and the sky abruptly eclipsed in a bright light.  
The Deep One silenced His laughter. Ah... an ancient weapon was being launched in His domain. It was anticipated._

_Soldiers of twilight obeyed their next command. They channeled the entire energy from within them, towards the impending blast which intended to slay their Master. Sacrifices were made beyond hesitation. Mirth beamed the Corruptor -_

_He had prevailed._

_And her pain only continued to last. Fear and agony were the shackles, and the key to freedom was long gone. Cold blood poured out, staining the cherished one. Thereafter she experienced only a ruthless darkness._

_The voice of a familiar one reiterated on the desecrated battlefield, shouting for retreat; and thus the horn was blown, calling back for its champions, allowing corruption to spread…_

* * *

Wrathion's ears ever continued to emit a frustrating ringing noise. The dragon rested his elbow on the armrest, in order to have his hand holding his head, which now was suffering from a migraine. He groaned lightly and shut his eyes; it only made Farseer Lorga's powerful voice resound even louder in his head.

"Our assault failed! And now, _Southern Kalimdor is under control of the Black Empire!"_ Barked the orc while attempting her best not to scream her lungs out. Wrathion chewed on his bottom lip. His fangs pierced in so deeply, that it shattered the skin of his ebony mouth, and the dragon could taste his own blood on the surface of his tongue.

He made no reaction to the sudden stinging pain provoked by his bite; silently, Wrathion ignored the bitter iron taste of his blood. He listened to the Farseer, but refused to acknowledge her words. His stone expression lingered on his features, as he tried to surpass the migraine while continuing to " _hear_ " the Farseer's rage.

"You should have done what I ordered you:" Lorga continued harshly. Vehemently, she slammed her palms atop the surface of the long desk, glaring at Wrathion who was seated across from her. "Glide inside the Corruptor's temple, and wound him with the blade of the Black Empire." The Farseer paused, swallowing heavily as she recalled the massacre which was the battle of Ny'alotha. So many noble souls were lost because of certain mistakes. "Instead, you wasted your time to rescue the paladin! And because of that, we were overrun, and it bought enough time for the Corruptor to reinforce his defense against damage from the Forge of Heart!"

The muscles in Lorga's jaw tightened as she watched Wrathion gazing upon her with a cold look. His passiveness only added fuel to the Farseer's anger. She briefly glanced at Rehgar, who was seated on her left side; much like the dragon, her mate was silent. Lorga had hoped Rehgar would speak up as well, acknowledging the errors that the Black Prince had made in the battle, but it seemed the gladiator shaman did not desire to intervene just yet. Leaving the Farseer to censure Wrathion by herself:

"Now the whole of Azeroth is about to suffer because of our mistake; because of _your_ mistake!" The final words Lorga breathed out caused Wrathion's blood to boil.  
"We were caught in an impossible situation, Farseer!" Finally spoke Wrathion, rising angrily out of his seat. "More and more fiends were swarming from the temple, N'zoth knew beforehand of our attack, and had an impenetrable force defending him! Any action would have resulted in a futile outcome!"

Wrathion noticed a small bewilder in Lorga's eyes, as if the Farseer did not anticipate for the dragon to speak back. She pressed her lips thinly against one another, soaking in what Wrathion has just said. Her glare only intensified at him, and she silently shook her head indicating that she was disagreeing with him.  
The dragon fell back into his seat, refusing to look again at the Farseer. His palm made its way across his eyes as he rested his head against it.

_Everything was falling apart in a blink of an eye._

Upon witnessing Tieria standing before him as a minion of N'zoth, Wrathion collapsed in sheer panic. His mind could no longer think about the Corruptor which was only a bridge away from the dragon; instead, in that moment, he concentrated on liberating his templar from the unforgiving fate of serving the Deep One.  
And as the Black Prince fought against Tieria, followed by piercing Xal'atath in her chest, the champions of the Black Prince and their faithful allies, continued to push back the relentless army of N'zoth, in hope to clear a path and march inside the temple where the Corrupted resided in.

Valued time drifted away like sand blown by the wind, and the minions of the Black Empire conquered the battlefield. Many Iceborn dwarves, as well Blacktalon agents and Tol'vir warriors perished by the hands of the Deep One. All they needed was for Wrathion to weaken N'zoth with the blade, but instead the dragon was kneeling before the temple, holding Tieria whose heart was bleeding out.  
It became impossible to fight back by virtue of N'zoth's countless mass of minions, and with bitterness, Wrathion acknowledged that.

Nevertheless, the black dragon pursued to save the day by ordering M.O.T.H.E.R to activate the Forge of Heart, and launch the titan-infused blast into the Corruptor's temple. But the overwhelming defense N'zoth possessed, allowed the Old God to succeed in protecting himself from the Titan's power, concluding the Black Prince's assault with a failure; since the Forge of Heart could be launched only once.  
Consequently, defeated and with a broken spirit, Wrathion called for a retreat. Those who survived the battle escaped to the Ebon Rest, sheltering in the underground sanctuary like rats. Only a few days have passed since Azeroth's champions suffered failure of their assault, but the Corruptor swiftly took hold of the southern Kalimdor.

"You could have charged in the temple even after the Forge was fired." Hissed Lorga at Wrathion; she spoke more quietly this time, gritting every word between her teeth. "The dagger was still in your possession. You chose not to because the paladin was dying."  
The Black Prince swore underneath his breath, the Farseer talking in the cold and demeaning manner was harder to tolerate than her yelling. Although his eyes were closed, Wrathion heard Lorga drawing in breath and preparing to speak again; but about hearing Rehgar's voice interrupting the Farseer, the dragon opened his eyes.

"Enough, Lorga." Intervened Rehgar calmly, while rising out of the chair and taking a few steps closer to his mate. "The dragon is right, we were overrun because the Corruptor anticipated our every move. The chances of succeeding were too low."  
"You are taking _his_ side?!" Replied Lorga, her glare was now directed towards Rehgar instead of Wrathion, she felt insulted by not having her mate's support.  
"I am not taking anyone's side!" Sighed the gladiator shaman while shaking his head. "We cannot revert what has occurred - you know this. We must press forward, and not turn against one another, especially now."

Lorga inhaled sharply; her eyes remained locked into Rehgar's, and the two orcs stared silently at one another for a brief moment. The Farseer's contorted expression visibly relaxed the longer she looked at her mate. She swallowed heavily, and silently gave a modest nod of defeat to Rehgar.  
Once Lorga was calm, _(with her cheeks still flushing in red rage)_ , Rehgar turned to Wrathion. The gladiator orc's eyes shined in compassion towards the dragon.

Wrathion sank into his seat, crossing his legs and sighing in irritation and his headache only intensified. He decided to rest his fingers on his temples, and proceeded to massage them, hoping it would elevate his unforgiving migraine.  
His crimsons eyes fixated at Rehgar, when he heard the orc addressing to him:

"Since our defeat, we have already taken some steps forward:" Rehgar began reminding both Wrathion and Lorga of the positive aspects which occurred in these past few days. "We had citizens of Uldum, Tanaris and even a few who were in Un'goro Crater - evacuated. The Forge of Origination is still safe because the core of the mechanism lies in here; and to our knowledge the Corruptor does not yet know of the existence of this sanctuary."  
The shaman's eyes went back and forth between his mate and the dragon, both of them still had twisted expressions; but Rehgar did not let their sour glares bar him from delivering _some_ hope:  
"The Alliance soldiers are stationed to defend the other Titan facilities, should the Deep One attempt some form of attack or corruption, and the Zandalari are maintaining the one from Nazmir." Continued Rehgar calmly; he briefly paused to watch Lorga taking a step closer to the desk and rest against the edge of the table whilst crossing her arms.

"And the most curious part is that N'zoth has not attempted to attack the Forge of Heart. Either because he is too weakened or-"  
"Because of the Dark Titan's blade." Lorga concluded Rehgar's sentence for him. Her mate gave a nod, confirming her words.  
"We believe that Sargeras' blade pierced into Silithus is halting N'zoth from attacking the core of our world." Resumed Rehgar, delivering the theory he and Lorga discussed about the other night, to Wrathion. "After all, the Old Gods and the Burning Legion are enemies, and perhaps the Corruptor does not have the strength to fight back the dark energy Sargeras' sword emits; not yet, anyway. Nonetheless - it buys us time."

Wrathion's eyes rounded at the information he has just learnt. He found that theory highly plausible, and was somewhat relieved to hear at least a small portion of good news.  
Despite all of this, the dragon still found himself unable to speak; he sank into his chair, allowing Rehgar to continue sharing his thoughts.  
"We have Speaker Magni and King Phaoris tending to the Forge of Heart, since its system is damaged from the blast it fired at N'zoth. While we think of our next steps to attack N'zoth, we also have to consider that we have the Tol'vir army, Frostborn, and Horde soldiers sheltering in the Ebon Rest; it means we have to double off rations and other necessities."

"I already have my agents arranging an agreement with Ratchet." Declared Wrathion in a somewhat weak tone. "I also instructed Calthaire some days ago to send missives to the leaders of the world and explain the situation." He rearranged himself in his seat before delivering the final statement: "Once we receive some responses - we shall discuss our next strategy."  
Rehgar nodded, satisfied at the answer he had received.  
"In the meantime, Lorga and I will monitor the injured." Elaborated the gladiator shaman. Without waiting for any sort of response from Wrathion, Rehgar reached out to rest his arm around Lorga's waist, guiding himself as well as his mate, to exit the dragon's chamber.

Lorga haltingly began to walk towards the door, but as soon as her fingers wrapped herself around the old steel handle, the Farseer turned to Wrathion once more. She eyed the dragon carefully, analyzing his hardened features and unshining eyes. Then, before taking her leave, she spoke in a calm and yet, hostile tone:  
"If you intend on becoming the Earth-Warder, you should be wary of your mortal attachments."

* * *

The wooden shield snapped in multiple pieces, as the dark blades of the demon hunter cleaved through it. Splinters and chunks of wood flew everywhere, before collapsing on the dusty stone floor of the Ebon Rest.

Felassan stood unmoved, counting the amount of bits of the broken shield, by listening to them spill. He slowly began to retract his warglaives back and assume a more relaxed stance. Recognizable footsteps began echoing in the main hall in which Felassan was in. The demon hunter immediately began approaching the person whom the footsteps belonged to, startling Caradin in the process, since the dwarf did not anticipate for Felassan to suddenly appear before him.

"Gah!" Echoed Caradin while jumping back in surprise. He blinked rapidly, as if adjusting to the sight of the Illidari standing in front of him.  
"Well?" Inquired the demon hunter, unwilling to wait for the dwarf's ' _recovery_ ' from his own startle.  
"Still unconscious." Grumbled Caradin in response, while taking a step to the side to go around Felassan and walk toward the small training area which was situated on the left side of the main hallway. To be more precise, the small training field was located in a smaller round corridor, which split itself from the main one. It fairly small, allowing perhaps only four to five warriors to practice their combat skills; nonetheless, those who now resided within the Ebon Rest, especially the Blacktalon agents, often made use of the chamber to exercise.

Once in the combat area, Caradin glanced down at the training dummies he personally made, with the use of some sacks filled with sand and planks of wood. He sighed heavily at the sight of many, if not nearly all, of the dummies heavily crumbled and mangled; sand and splinters were covering the stone floor. It seemed the demon hunter had directed his rage over the current circumstances, towards those sad training dummies.

The dwarf grunted, while trying to swipe away some sand from the ground with his foot. He could not blame Felassan for cooling off his anger on some pieces of wood and sacks of sand, nonetheless, it was somewhat disheartening to Caradin to witness that all of his dummies were destroyed. Now he had to make craft them all over again, and perhaps make more dummies and target practices, given the amount of Tol'vir, Iceborne and Horde soldiers which now were scattered throughout the entirety of the Ebon Rest; who much like Felassan, wished to cleave down their anger at their defeat.

"Are there at least any signs of her recovery?" Continued Felassan with his interrogation. The demon hunter felt a knot forming in his stomach upon hearing another sigh from the Argent Crusade sergeant.  
"Nay..." Replied Caradin dryly. "It's unknown when she'll recover…" He paused to swallow heavily; thinking about Tieria's state pained his heart; unwilling to have his mind being clouded with the unnerving thought of his friend's death, he proceeded to switch the topic of the conversation: "Ye destroyed all the dummies, Felassan!"  
" _That_ is what bothers you at this moment?" Replied the demon hunter in an empty chortle, to which the dwarf merely scoffed at.  
"'Tis the only thing I can control…" Grunted Caradin while picking up a broken log. His blue eyes shined with sorrow, and his constant runny nose gave the impression that the dwarf was fighting back tears. "I can't heal Tia, I can't kill N'zoth. I can only make dummies so others can take out their anger at 'em."

The demon hunter stood silent at first, analyzing his dwarven comrade. Ever since they have returned from their defeat, Caradin has barely spoken, slept or eaten. The entire time, the dwarf stood outside Tieria's chamber, waiting for the healers to deliver some good news regarding her state, but so far - nothing. The worst of all was that, it was unknown how it all occurred, and if it ever was possible to prevent the templar's disheartening fate.

"You think you failed leading the charge." Assumed Felassan. He spoke with certainty, as if he was delivering a fact rather than making a presumption. "You assume you could have stopped Tieria from falling to corruption."  
Caradin's nose continued to sniffle and the dwarf swallowed heavily. Those small mannerisms were enough of an indication to the demon hunter that his assumptions were correct.  
"Caradin…" Sighed Felassan; he was not one to deliver compassionate words and heartful wisdom, but nonetheless, the demon hunter attempted to speak more softly whatever might ease Caradin's troubling heart. "We do not even know how she fell to the Old God powers to begin with; for all we know, it was unavoidable. The dragon is attempting to study how it occurred, as we speak."  
"Aye…" Was the only response Caradin could give. He continued to gather the fractured items, utterly ignoring the demon hunter's presence.

Felassan rested against the wall, while watching Caradin tidying up the combat area. The sound of a sniffling nose and wood being picked up, was the only echo existing in that moment.  
"Ye fought her, Felassan." Began the dwarf quietly, his eyes still fixated upon the clutter of broken dummies, as he thought back to the moment the corrupted Tieria materialized before them in Ny'alotha, and with a cold glare attempted to shatter the defense which fought for Azeroth. "D-did she knew you were dueling her? Has she said anything to ye?"  
"She was mind-controlled, Caradin." Asserted Felasan in a somewhat cold tone, he reached out to scratch his beard. Caradin mentioning their duel made the demon hunter's visualize that combat once more. "I am certain she could not oversee her own actions - she simply did as the Old God commanded." He let out a shrug whilst saying: "I also believe she might not remember anything during her corruption."

Caradin glanced at Felassan for a brief moment; was it fortunate or unfortunate for one not to have the memories of fighting their own friends and allies? The Argent Crusade sergeant did not know how to answer the particular sentence, nor did he have anything to reply to the demon hunter. Instead, he resumed with gathering the remains of the dummies; hoping that being engaged in some manner of labor would free his mind from the grim thoughts and memories.  
Felassan removed himself from where he was standing, and proceeded to exit the chamber, only to be stopped by the dwarf asking:

"Where ye goin'?"  
"Rest." Breathed the demon hunter lazily.  
"Nay! You broke all these dummies!" Scolded the Argent Crusade sergeant, while pointing at the broken assets scattered throughout the room. "Now ye gonna help me clean up! Go get a broom!"

* * *

Not too long after Rehgar and Lorga took their leave from his chamber, Wrathion departed as well.

He took off towards the left corridor, walking in a hasting pace until he reached the end of it. Quietly, the Black Prince opened the door to a small quarters; his crimson eyes instantly directed themselves upon the unconscious templar, who was laying on the modest bed from across the room. Neither her appearance nor her state had improved since she was brought back to the Ebon Rest.

Tieria breathed in and out in shallow breaths. Her brown hair rested chaotically upon the surface of the pillow, and underneath the fur covers, the templar wore an oversized grey tunic, which was found laying on the chair in her chamber, when Haliki and Rokash carried the templar here.

She resembled a flower drying in the hot desert.

Color was drained from her. The skin was bruised from the twisted shackles of the Old God's flesh, which were upon her during her corruption; thus, the paladin had her entire torso and arms covered in bandages; with only the oversized tunic which she wore as a sleeping attire, thrown over her injured body. She laid on the bed in the same position she was put in, and has not moved at all ever since Wrathion sucked out the corruption out of her with Xal'atath.

"Mother gave you an earful, didn't she?" A male voice came from the side. The Black Prince turned to find Rokash with a small grin on his green lips. He was resting on the chair by the foot of the bed, with an old, sewed together book resting on his lap. In that brief moment that the dragon glanced upon Rokash, he sized him up and analyzed his features.

Rokash's scarless and wrinkless face, as well as intact tusks gave away the fact that the shaman was fairly young. Close enough to Tieria's age, or perhaps even younger. He had high cheekbones and a large jaw, which were ordinary features for his kind; and given his parent's history - his skin was in the color of a dark green.  
He was not a muscular orc, although his body resembled that of his gladiator father. Nonetheless, his wool breeches highlighted his chunky thighs, and the sleeves tunic in a soft grey shade, rested tightly on his broad chest.

But aside from those aspects - Rokash looked entirely like his mother. His honey-color eyes gleamed in the same wisdomous manner as the Farseer's; albeit his' were also far calmer. He had long and dark velvet hair alike Lorga, which he kept in a simple braid, with only a few strands resting above his face and sideburns extending from his rigid hairline.  
Much like Lorga adorned her ears with iron jewelry - so did her boy. Two iron rings were pierced in his right ear, one of the upper part and another on the lower; the left one had two earrings piercing in the lower part.  
Rokash also had a septum piercing, and a ring arranged on his left tusk, identical like the ones in his ears, those trinkets were made of dark iron.

The youthful orc smirked at the Black Prince, awaiting a manner of response from him.  
Wrathion inhaled sharply as he once again remembered the unpleasant ' _conversation'_ he had with Farseer Lorga, which apparently the entirety of Ebon Rest listened to. Nevertheless, the dragon forced his usual egotistical smile on his lips.

"I cannot imagine how you must have felt when she scolded you as a child." Teased the Black Prince. He spoke almost soundlessly, as if he was wary not to awake the templar, who was evidently unconscious, and no amount of noise would wake her any time soon.  
"Oh, she never scolded _me_." Chuckled Rokash, his grin only intensifying. "I'm her precious boy. It's every other being in the world that she cannot stand."  
"So I've gathered." Replied Wrathion in an empty sigh while pulling a chair next to the bed. Silence once again made its presence into the chamber.

With a heavy heart and bitter feeling, Wrathion glanced down at Tieria. Attentively, he looked for any signs if she might recover, but the dragon was no healer - hence he failed to notice anything. If it wouldn't be for Rokash and Haliki, Wrathion would declare that the templar has passed away - _by his hand.  
_No scholar or immortal being could explain the dragon's actions during Ny'alotha. It was unknown, not even to Wrathion himself, whenever he has committed that action because his heart wield so, or if this was somewhat the Old God's plan all along; but Wrathion's dreams would forever be haunted by the abominable sight of Tieria acting as a devoted servant of N'zoth, and him slaying the templar.

"Her spirit… did not cross the veil just yet." Declared Rokash softly once he caught the eye of the dragon's distress. "It still lingers… _She's still alive._ "  
"But for how long?" Breathed out the Black Prince bitterly, while running his fingers through his dark locks. "I have never heard of anyone surviving an Old God's corruption."  
"Nonetheless," Surmised Rokash calmly. "You succeeded in removing the corruption within her with the dagger-"  
"By _stabbing_ her in her _heart_."

Rokash remained silent, unsure what to add to this conversation because he felt uncertain what the dragon wanted to hear. Did Wrathion wish to admit that the paladin was dead? As the young orc watched the Black Prince sorrowfully looking down upon Tieria, he wondered what thoughts crossed the dragon's mind at that moment. Remorse? Fury? Vengeance?

"She will awaken." Promised the young shaman. "In time. You rescued her swiftly enough for me and Haliki to heal her most severe wounds."  
_"I sacrificed the world's fate to recover her."_ Thought the dragon to himself with a heavy heart; his pain only heightened when he realized he did not _know_ how he felt regarding that reckoning.  
Wrathion found himself sighing heavily, and praying to whatever force in the world that Rokash was correct, and that the templar would indeed return to her normal self. His gaze lingered upon Tieria as his soul filled with sorrow. Never in his life had the black dragon felt so… _hopeless_.

"The moment she opens her eyes - call for me." Ordered Wrathion, to which Rokash replied with a silent nod. The dragon turned to look at the unconscious templar once more, whilst chewing on his lower lip. It looked as if Wrathion intended on adding something more to his sentence, but he did not breathe another word.  
His sorrowful gaze remained directed towards Tieria. But upon noticing Rokash leering at him, Wrathion swiftly took his leave.

* * *

After leaving Tieria's chamber, Wrathion walked back towards his private quarters, but he found himself standing frozen in place before the door of his chamber, and glancing upon the main hall crowded with Tol'vir warriors, Horde soldiers and Iceborn dwarves, resting clustered within the sanctuary.

Many of them looked as if they had already succumbed to defeat, and were simply lying on the cold floor, waiting for the inevitable corruption of N'zoth.  
Others had their expressions painted with determination. They were already sharpening their weapons, sharing knowledge to one another, and even discussing strategies, while waiting for the call to arms to sound once more, and march into battle to defeat the Black Empire and free Azeroth.

Wrathion felt conflicted towards the view before him. He was proud to witness the denizens of Azeroth unyielding to the threats of the Corruptor; and yet, _that_ sight; those people were presently hiding in this abandoned sanctuary _because_ of him. He could have ended it all, if only-

"My Lord," The dragon's trail of thoughts was interrupted by Calthaire, one of his most-trusted Blacktalon, approaching him. She wore a set of black leather armor, and kept her jade hair in a long braid which rested over her left shoulder. "We have received multiple responses." Declared the kaldorei as she stopped by his side with a bundle of opened letters. "Various leaders and generals throughout Eastern Kingdoms have declared the status in their respective lands." Continued Calthaire while shuffling through the stack of scrolls and parchment she held in her hands. Her silver eyes read in-between the lines in order to summarize every letter to her Master. Wrathion remained fixated upon the view of the main hail, whilst attentively listening to every word Calthaire breathed.

The Blacktalon agent did not halt from speaking even when Farseer Lorga, Rehgar, Felassan and Caradin approached the Black Prince, forming a small circle around the dragon. Soon enough, Justicar Julia Celeste, who was currently holding the leadership of the Silver Hand knights within the Ebon Rest, while Maxwell was recovering, also approached the gathering.

"All the citizens and travelers who were in Gadgetzan, as well as the common denizens of Ramkahen City and other villages from Uldum, have been evacuated to various settlements in the Eastern Kingdoms and the north of Kalimdor." Declared the kaldorei Blacktalon, with her eyes still directed upon a letter. She briefly lifted her gaze up to witness the small crowd around her; everyone were keenly listened to the kaldorei's report, thence, Calthaire did not delay her pause for too long and resumed: "In order to ensure that no Black Empire minions are hiding between the refugees, paladins and priests have been stationed at every dock and gate, and are in charge to practice their Light ritual, in the same manner Tieria did on those who were about to enter the Ebon Rest, upon every refugee before they enter in the city."

Calthaire licked her lips and folded the bundle of letters in half as a form of conclusion of her report, and rested her hands behind her back. Then she looked up at her Master, waiting for a dragon to speak their next steps. Wrathion started emptily at the ground, unblinking; seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Or perhaps he was still forming the next strategy in his mind.  
Nonetheless, it was Farseer Lorga who spoke first:

"Feralas will be the next target." Theorized the Farseer whilst crossing her arms. "N'zoth will most likely keep on spreading his forces throughout Kalimdor, _then_ he will strike for Eastern Kingdoms and the other lands. Hence, Feralas must also be evacuated."  
"Word of the Corruptor's invasion has already reached out throughout various settlements on Azeroth." Added Justicar Julia, her voice sounded cold and somewhat hostile as during their first encounter with the paladin; she seemed furious at the fact that her comrade Maxwell was in intensive care, and that the young recruit Niall was declared dead and unable to recover his body. "Many are already abandoning their homes and journeying to other lands for shelter."

"We have King Phaoris' generals, your Blacktalon and the forces of the Alliance and Horde taking care of the refugees." Rehgar addressed Wrathion. "We have to take care of the assault itself."  
"We need a solid strategy. N'zoth foresaw our assault - we need the element of surprise if we wish to break his defense." Felassan stepped forward. Oddly enough he was carrying a broom, and nobody bothered to ask why in Azeroth's sake was the Illidari holding the dusty item in his hand.  
"Before forming a battle tactic, another method to recharge the Forge has to be discovered." Added Farseer Lorga while eyeing the demon hunter bizarrely. "I refuse to believe that the twin Forges were the _only_ source of Titan energy."

Calthaire cleared her throat as a sign of attention. She then spoke more hesitantly, and seemingly her words were aimed only for Wrathion's ears:  
"There is one more matter, My Lord…" She paused to take in a deep breath before saying: "Alexstrasza herself wishes to speak with you in person."  
Her words caused Wrathion to shut his eyes and take in a deep breath, as if he felt he was about to set the entire sanctuary on fire and needed a manner to calm himself. N'zoth is taking hold of Azeroth, the Black Prince's cherished templar showed little signs of recovery, nearly every being in the world waited for a plan of action from _him_ , and now the Life-Binder - someone who highly distrusts the black dragon - wishes to _speak_ with him?

In that moment, Wrathion could feel the pain of his migraine rising, and the world no longer made any sense to him.

"What precisely does she want from me?" Inquired the Black Prince in a cold tone; evidently he was not thrilled to have learnt that the Life-Binder wished to discourse with him, only after she and the other Dragon Aspects had dismissed the threat of the Old God.  
Calthaire blinked at first, then she once again pulled out the stack of letters and flipped between them until she located the one which was written by the Life -Binder's Chamberlain.

The night elf swiftly read the letter to herself, then delivered a short summary to her Master and the others who were present next to him:  
"She wishes to discuss with you personally regarding the current situation in Azeroth, and the Life-Binder also declares that other Dragon Aspects might be present at the gathering."  
"Most likely to scold me for my strategy to save Azeroth." Replied Wrathion bitterly while rubbing his eyes.

"It is no surprise Alexstrasza and the others want to involve themselves in this." Rehgar intervened, to which Wrathion gave a nod. Albeit he did not want to admit that the orc was correct.  
In truth - much like before - Wrathion had no desire to be around the Life-Binder and the other dragonflights, even when the world was at the threshold of falling to the Old God's reign.  
  
Nonetheless, Alexstrasza was a Dragon Aspect, someone who was personally infused with the essence of the Titans, and so were the other Dragon Aspects. Given that the Twin Forges were drained out of the Titan energy, she was one of the few which could still contrive a weapon against the Deep One. The other dragonflights _were_ needed in this war.   
Desperate times called for desperate measures. And even such a proud, and egotistical soul such as Wrathion, had to push aside all the grudges he held towards the red dragonflight and the others, if he wished to save Azeroth and become her Earth-Warder.

He has made enough mistakes - no more errors were allowed at this point.

"We are the ones who brought Ny'alotha into the world - we should be the ones to cast it into the abyss." Recited the Black Prince. "And for that we will need more allies, more _Titan-infused_ allies." He turned his head towards Calthaire who was standing to his left side. "Escort Alexstrasza and the other Dragon Aspect here in the Ebon Rest, make sure you are not followed. Have Magni join us as well."  
"You finally thought of a strategy?" Inquired Lorga in a tone mix with curiosity and hope.  
"I have a concept, whenever it should be made reality - we shall see." Said Wrathion while forcing a small smile on his lips for the first time since their return to the Ebon Rest. "Either way, we will need the Dragon Aspects.  
Rehgar found himself nodding passionately at the dragon, and so were the others. Even a faint notion of a plan, was enough to fill many hearts with the hope that the Old God will be defeated.

"Let me guess, we're about to have another strategy meeting once the dragons are here?" Lorga grunted displeased, as she lost the track of how many tactic-discussing gatherings were held since the dawn of this crusade. Wrathion released a small chuckle at the Farseer's eyerolling; but then he made the most confident remark:  
"We are about to discuss how we will kill N'zoth and save Azeroth."


	2. Resurgence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is having a lovely holiday period! ♥ I myself am fairly busy, but I just keep going. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> You can also read this chapter on Fanfiction.net!

"The mogu-!" Wrathion chanted whilst breaking away from his dream; hastily, he lifted his torso from the softness of the mattress, while staring at the darkness which enveloped his chamber. He wiped away drops of sweat he felt forming on his forehead, and dragged away the covers off his bare body in order to leave his bed.

The dragon rushed to the side of the room, ignoring the sensation of the cold stone floor on the soft skin of his feet. Rapidly his hand went over to open the lock of the large chest which rested against the wall; and the dragon knelt down whilst pulling up its heavy lid.

Faint creaking of the metal of the chest echoed in the Black Prince's chamber. Realizing only at that moment that the darkness was so intense that he could not see his own belongings, Wrathion rapidly seized a candle from the large table, and lit it with his own fiery breath.

As he glanced down at the open chest, filled with clothes, trinkets, tomes, scrolls and whatever artifacts Wrathion desired to keep as personal belongings, the dragon released a despondent sigh.  
" _You must be somewhere here."_ Thought Wrathion, while pushing aside a folded cloak, as he searched for what he needed.

His free hand roamed through the chest, pushing aside all the possessions; practically creating a whirlwind inside the strongbox. He inhaled sharply as his hand rested on a hilt of a blade which was wrapped in a dirty cloth. As if controlled by some higher entity, Wrathion retrieved the weapon out to the chest, staring coldly at the dried up blood stains visible on the material.

The black dragon's glare turned into a gaze of guilt and pain, after he unwrapped the blade, and stared upon Xal'atath still covered with Tieria's blood. As before, the dagger still echoed sinister, intangible whispers.  
After their return from their exasperating defeat, Wrathion hid the blade of the Black Empire in-between his private items. He could not endure being in the presence of the dark artifact, but the dragon was not ludicrous to throw it away - in the end, it might still be used against the Corruptor. Thus, Wrathion hid it away.

Reflections of Tieria's scream of pain rang in his mind as he gazed upon the blade. Forcing the dragon to wrap the weapon once more in the piece of cloth, and arrange it once more into his chest; leaving it down at its bottom. He knew would need that blade again, hence setting it under layers of items into that chest was illogical; but at that moment - Wrathion preferred for it to be buried deeply.

A sigh of relief left the dragon's lips as he felt his hand pressing against the hardcover of a particular tome. Pulling the book with only one hand was heavier than anticipated, so as soon as it reached above the walls of the chest, Wrathion let the heavy book fall on the hard ground. A large echo emitted in the chamber once the book battered on the stone floor.

Wrathion took a moment to analyze the cover of the book, whilst placing the candle next to it. The tome had a thick, hard jade material decorating its edges and spine; the face of a frowning mogu was placed in a golden circle which was arranged in the middle; and texts of a foreign language were situated around in a vertical form instead of horizontal.

It was an archaic tome, given the quality of the pages and the ancient language it was written in; but it also a treasure, and one of Wrathion's most prized possessions. The ancient book was reputed to be written by a mogu named Shey Yeng, who was an advisor of the Thunder-King Lei Shen himself; and who later translated the events of the mogu empire on those particular pages.

Whenever this tome was merely a copy or the authentic scripture - Wrathion never learnt; nonetheless, the Black Prince knew that in those texts laid various details of the mogu race, and how they ruled the land of Pandaria with an iron fist.  
And during the time that the Black Prince was in Pandaria, he has learnt much of its history, especially about the magical _titan-forged_ creatures such as the mogu.

Wrathion believed this tome could possess an answer, a note, _anything_ which would help him form his strategy to fight N'zoth; but as he flipped through the pages written in the unknown tongue, the black dragon realized that _that_ was the reason he never succeeded in finishing reading this book in the first place - the obscure language.

Albeit dragons were born with an intelligence far more advanced than an ordinary being from Azeroth, not even the most ancient dragons could possess _all_ of the information which resided in this world, or speak every tongue. In the end, dragons had to learn and study, much like every soul.  
But in that particular moment - time did not allow Wrathion to master a new language. He needed a translator - someone who knew the ancient mogu, and could effortlessly write down those timeworn texts in the common tongue. He needed a _Lorewalker_.

Swiftly, the Black Prince rose from the ground with the heavy book in a hand, and the candle in the other. He laid them both on the desk, and hauled a fresh parchment, dipped his quill in a well-crafted kaldorei ink, and proceeded to write down a plea to a particular person he knew from Pandaria.

Simultaneously while rolling his letter, Wrathion picked up his satin robe, and threw it on him, sealing it tightly with the silk sash. Then, he carried out to seal the freshly-written scroll with a short silk ribbon. Once ready, Wrathion picked up the mogu tome, and marched out of his chamber.

He walked with haste, ignoring the fact that his heavy footsteps might awake some Tol'vir men, or Horde soldiers who slept within the halls of the Ebon Rest.  
And if his footsteps weren't loud enough, the robust knock he gave on a door, certainly echoed resoundly enough to wake up some souls. The dragon knocked multiple times, to ensure that who was on the other side of the door would break away from their slumber.

Calthaire greeted Wrathion with a glare, clearly irritated at the sudden noise. Her gaze turned from annoyance into shock, as she did not anticipate to see her Master standing by the door in the middle of the night.  
The kaldorei Blacktalon opened her mouth to speak, but was instantly interrupted by Wrathion handing her the mogu tome, with his scroll resting atop of it.

"Send this to the Seat of Knowledge, in the Vale." Ordered Wrathion simply and directly. " _Now_. The letter contains enough explanation."  
Calthaire, who was still waking up to her senses after a tight sleep, took the tome in her hands and gave a nod to the Black Prince. Wrathion took his leave afterwards, as there was not much details to discuss about the night elf's order.

On the way back to his chamber, Wrathion glanced at the door to Tieria's quarters, which laid all across the end of the other hall. His gaze lingered, as something inside of him begged the dragon to enter and witness the state of his templar.  
However, his mind hesitated that call. Gazing upon Tieria was just as agonizing as holding Xal'atath stained with her blood; only with guilt, bitterness and defeat surging through his heart.  
It was far easier, so simply avoid this.

Hence, Wrathion retreated to his chamber, and prayed that at least _this_ night, he would not spend it questioning his own choices.

* * *

" _We sailed to the west, to a place our people would end up calling home - the land of Durotar. Of course, then, that place had no name. Grommash and I-"  
_  
Rokash had his focus on the book interrupted, upon hearing light moans and the sound of sheets moving from his side. The young orc turned to witness Tieria finally shifting in her bed.  
Through the covers, her legs began gently thrashing while her arms found their way above them. Rokash's ears focused on listening to the paladin releasing soft moans and grunts, which sounded like blares of pain; perhaps those thrashings irritated her wounds, and brought the templar discomfort.

The young orc dragged himself closer to the edge of his chair, while simultaneously closing down his book and putting it aside. He attentively watched the paladin waking up to reality, akin a hunter watching a lost deer. For a brief moment, he assumed that Tieria was simply moving in her sleep. But once he witnessed her eyelids lifting up, Rokash leaped on the bed to sit by Tieria's side.

Given that she still had no knowledge of the situation, nor her whereabouts, Tieria let herself be guided by Rokash. As gently as an orc could - the young shaman reached out to grab her shoulders and pull her torso up, then he rearranged the pillow against the wall and pushed the paladin back to rest softly against the wall.

The templar blinked weakly, not a single muscle on her pale face twitched. She looked emotionless; her eyes were drained from their ordinary shine, her ample lips were chapped, and she started emptily at the orc. Her fingers were knotted into the sheets; holding it tightly as if she would fall if she didn't hold on to it.

Rokash swallowed heavily - by the dry look in Tieria's eyes, the orc realized that the paladin wasn't fully awake. Her body was - but not her mind.  
He has healed so many soldiers since then, but never has he experienced such a thing. His first instinct was to reach out and grab Tieria's hand, hoping that a sense of touching might bring her to reality. He inhaled sharply at how unnaturally cold her hands felt.

In that very moment, the door of the chamber opened, and Rokash immediately turned to the door, and informed of Tieria's state to the one who entered inside:

"Haliki!" Addressed Rokash in a hush tone to the Zandalari troll. "She awakened!"  
Haliki, who was carrying a tray filled with a bowl of stew and some crackers, had his eyes widened upon the sight of Tieria no longer lying unconsciously. He swiftly, but carefully, placed the tray of food intended for Rokash on the nightstand, and approached the bed.

Much like Rokash, Haliki behaved very cautiously around Tieria. Nobody knew how one, who had the Old Gods' corruption surging through them, would act after everything the templar went through. So acting watchful was the most logical act.  
The Zandalari troll took a seat on the chair next to the bed, staring at the paladin who continued to remain silent as she was waking up to reality.

"Tieria." Spoke Rokash calmly, while still holding her cold hand. Upon the sound of her name, she turned to him, which made Rokash sigh relief. She still knew who she was. "Do you remember _anything_?" Continued the young orc in a whisper.

Her thin brows snapped together - she seemed to be trying to find an answer to Rokash's questions. Her face contorted deeper and deeper with each moment passing; until her lower lip began to tremble and a tear streamed down her scarred cheek.  
"Darkness..." Breathed out Tieria weakly. "I remember being very cold in the dark."

Haliki and Rokash exchanged looks, then they turned to Tieria again, who now had her palms covering her face. Her vague answer was no good to the two healers to determine the severity of the paladin's state.  
"After-battle shock." Declared Haliki quietly. "'Tis be common. Lots be sufferin' from it; losin' memories, constant paranoia, some even forget how ta speak."  
"I can speak." Asserted Tieria while wiping away more tears which formed in her eyes, whilst attempting to put on a more serious expression. "And I-I remember more… Uldum, and Ny'alotha…, and Niall losing his senses…"

Rokash grunted, analyzing what Tieria had just said, and so was Haliki. During that particular silence, Tieria's eyes surveyed the room, her brows snapped together as she realized:

"Are we in the Ebon Rest?" Inquired the paladin while glancing down at the bed and recognizing the room she was in.  
"We are." Nodded Rokash. "All of your questions will be answered later, the dragon will tell you-"  
"Wrathion." Tieria said upon Rokash mentioning the dragon. "Where's Wrathion?"  
"He is here." Said the young orc, feeling marginally irritated for being interrupted. "Everything in time, paladin. We need to prioritize your recovery."

"I be getting more food." Declared Haliki as he rose from the chair. Then the troll gestured at the bowl of soup as he told Rokash: "Dat one be for you."  
Rokash nodded in gratitude at Haliki, then he turned again to Tieria:  
"Tieria, for your sake, let us eat first; then I promise you will have all the answers you seek."

The young orc saw hesitation on the templar's face, but ultimately she gave in to his words. Perhaps she has realized that in that weak state, she would not be able to withhold a large amount of information, or of any size on that matter.  
She sank in the pillow, and shyly accepted the bowl of stew Rokash handed her; then she began to eat while Rokash waited for his portion of the meal to arrive.

* * *

"M-my Lord!" Agent Cullen popped his head through the door. He found the Black Prince sitting at the end of the long-table, writing down on a piece of parchment. Upon hearing for his Blacktalon addressing him, Wrathion lifted his head and waited for Cullen to report:

"You have a visitor." Informed the blonde human. "He has just arrived here, and demands that you hold a meeting with him right now."  
Wrathion blinked - Alexstrasza and the others shouldn't be here until the next day, so who could be so important that found his way to the Ebon Rest and _demanded_ to speak with the Black Prince.

Naturally, the dragon felt annoyed - nobody could dare to order Wrathion to toss everything he was doing, to discuss with whoever this being was. But curiosity was getting to him, thus the Black Prince required Cullen to bring this so-called ' _visitor'_ here in his chamber.

Cullen saluted his Master and swiftly retreated to the main hall; it only took a couple of moments, until the door to Wrathion's chamber opened, and a young human man entered. His dapper features, and almost naive-shining eyes, were darkened by a disappointing glare directed at the Black Prince.

"Anduin…" Wrathion breathed in surprise while letting himself fall back in his chair.

The young King of Stormwind gave Wrathion a silent nod of greeting. He had his golden locks tied in a low ponytail, as he always did since he let his hair grow. Instead of a regal attire, the human royalty wore an armor set, made out of hardened elementium, and decorated with a gold metal; a lion crest rested in the center of his chestpiece, representing the majestic symbol of the Alliance kingdom.

"How did you learn of the Ebon Rest?" Was the first question which escaped the dragon's lips.  
"Speaker Magni informed me." Replied Anduin Wrynn, while taking a seat in the chair closest to him. "After he informed me that your assault of Ny'alotha… had _complications_."

Wrathion pressed his lips tightly against one another, and his mind began wondering how detailed did the Diamond King tell the Alliance monarch of their defeat in the Sleeping City. The battlefield before the temple of N'zoth was so large, that only few, more precisely, only the Black Prince's champions, witnessed Wrathion's conflict with the corrupted Tieria. The others who were present at the assault, simply knew of N'zoth succeeded in blocking their attack from the Forge.

"What happened, Wrathion?" Sighed Anduin, the tone of his voice turning softer. And his question made Wrathion assume that the Speaker has not mentioned the paladin. "You were so confident you had what it takes to overthrow the Old God."

Wrathion swallowed heavily, but then he forced a smile on his dark lips. He was anticipating a critique from Alexstrasza, but he was not prepared to receive one from someone who once was a good friend of his.

"N'zoth overpowered us." Declared Wrathion, in a tone as neutral as possible. "But rest assured, we are already working on a strategy that will succeed."  
" _Do you_?" Spat the Alliance king somewhat hostile. "Because everything Speaker Magni has told me so far, is that the only way to kill the Old God is by launching the Forge of Heart, which is currently damaged."

"And we are working on mending it." Replied Wrathion equally cold. "Soon, we shall infuse it with Titan-essence collected from another source; given the Twin Forges have been depleted from their power."  
"Magni has also mentioned that the Forge of Origination, which holds the _life-essence of the world_ is deactivated." Anduin said in a hardened expression. "Azeroth cannot withstand too long without, can she?"  
"No, but it is better to have it deactivated, rather it be in the hands of N'zoth. Thus, a piece of it lies here - in the Ebon Rest - safely hidden from the minions of the Corruptor."

Wrathion crossed his legs as he assumed a more relaxed pose in his seat. He noticed a muscle in Anduin's jaw tightening, but has opted to ignore the young king's irritation.  
Instead, he has chosen to assure the Stormwind monarch:  
"My champions and myself are supervising this situation; your concern should only be the refugees which are fleeing the lands which are occupied by N'zoth."

"Wrathion." Addressed Anduin firmly. While Wrathion was relaxed in his chair, the young king was tense. He dragged himself closer to the table and rested both of his hands on its surface, while speaking to the Black Prince in a grim tone: "The Alliance cannot withstand another loss, _the world_ can't either. I do not want vague assurances, or palatable lies - I want to truly know if Azeroth can withstand this… or if this is the beginning of the end."

Wrathion had his arm on the armrest, and his fist covered a portion of his mouth. As he looked into Anduin's eyes, the dragon could hear his own heart beating.  
Anduin has known him long enough to be able to read through the Black Prince's over-confident mannerism. And since the dragon has set an ugly betrayal, which most likely forever scarred their friendship - the young king was far more wary of him.

Albeit, the dragon has never confessed it to anyone, he cherished his friendship with Anduin, and it took a fair amount of time for guilt to wash over the Black Prince, and realize how he hurt the young king for lying to him in Pandaria.

"I am not going to allow this to be the end." Swore Wrathion, the smile on his face vanished and his eyes suddenly had a cold look. "We have suffered … set-backs; but this shall not repeat again. I will do everything in my power to stop N'zoth."  
Anduin remained silent, but he gave Wrathion a small nod, which prompted the dragon to continue:

"I have a plan;'' Said the Black Prince, with his eyes fixated on the desk as he visualized the mogu tome, and the sketches its pages contained. "I simply need information from the Lorewalkers."  
"Tell me all about this strategy." Ordered the Stormwind king.

* * *

Tieria felt as if she was walking on pieces of broken glass.

Putting on socks and boots was also a painful experience, thus the paladin has opted to walk barefoot. No amount of footwear would be able to warm her up anyway. She slept under many layers of sheets and blankets of furs, and the paladin still felt cold.  
Haliki and Rokash took their leave, to allow Tieria to rest by herself; however, the paladin took that opportunity to abandon her quarters, and receive the answer to the questions which ran through her mind.

She exited the room, without bothering to change in a cleaner set of clothes nor combing her hair; and she was still in such a weak state, that the paladin required to hold her hand against the wall, lest her trembling legs would betray her and make her fall.

Upon exiting her room, Tieria's eyes immediately widened as she saw Tol'vir walking through the halls, and further down the templar caught the glimpse of some taurens and blood elves.  
With her entire body effort, Tieria began walking towards the main corridor. She took only a couple of steps before hearing a familiar voice calling out for her.

"Tieria!" Felassan approached the paladin with haste. The demon hunter wore little clothes as he always does - only a pair of black breeches, leather boots and leather wristbands. His eyes were covered with a ebon blindfold and his long, dark hair rested unkempt on his shoulders and streamed down until his waist.

The paladin smiled at the sight of her friend, as reached out to pull him for a short embrace. The demon hunter was careful as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and swiftly pulled away upon Tieria asking:  
"Where's Caradin?"  
"In Ratchet. Gathering some items for his engineering craft, while the Blacktalon are resupplying our stocks." Explained the Illidari.  
"W-what happened, Felassan?" Tieria followed with the interrogation after being satisfied with learning of her friend's whereabouts. "Why are there Tol'vir here? And… what happened to me?"

Felassan's expression hardened, which made Tieria inhaled sharply - she was about to receive some bad news - she realized that. She was indescribably injured, the Ebon Rest was filled with Tol'vir and Horde soldiers they were fighting alongside with, and given their sour expressions - they were not here to celebrate. Only those two factors were enough for the paladin to realize Wrathion's crusade had suffered - but she wanted to know _how_.  
"A lot has happened, Tieria." Answered Felassan vaguely. Tieria licked her lips and shook her head, discouraged with the answer she had received.  
"That-"

"Well I'd be damned." A female voice, coming from behind her interrupted the paladin. It only took Tieria a second, to recognize that the particular voice belonged to Farseer Lorga. She turned and watched as the shaman approached her, wearing a loose light brown kilt and a simple strapless brassiere of the same colour, and letting her velvet hair loose from her ordinary ponytail hairdo. "Some of us proclaimed you dead."

"I feel like one." Replied Tieria, half-joking and half-serious. Then, she resumed to learn what on earth- or more like _on what_ earth she was on. "W-what's going on, Farseer? Why are there Tol'vir and Horde soldiers swarming here, and where's Wrathion?"  
"Many events have occured-"  
"I heard that already." Interrupted Tieria in a snap. She took in a deep breath as pain began shooting in her chest, then after a moment of calming down, the templar addressed firmly: "I want concrete answers, this one isn't telling me anything" Tieria gestured at Felassan with a motion of her head. "And neither is your son"

Lorga glanced at Felassan for a brief moment; then as she resumed to look at Tieria, the Farseer let out a long, exhausting sigh. She has just had a talk with Rokash, who declared that Tieria has awakened but was too weak to comprehend her surroundings. But it seemed her son exaggerated, as Tieria seemed to be walking _(albeit, weakly,)_ and her hardened expression showed that the paladin did not wish to be coddled.

"The Old God foresaw our assault, and succeeded in defending himself against us." Lorga said grimy while crossing her arms. "We were forced to retreat."  
"We _-we_ _lost_?" Tieria could not believe the own words she was breathing. Something about hearing them out loud made it more horrific than assuming them. Given Lorga's grim expression, the paladin understood that that was in fact the truth.

"Southern Kalimdor is under the control of the Black Empire." Added Felassan. He took a step closer to Tieria, who now was resting against the wall, taken aback by the news and attempting to ease her shooting pain with calming breaths. "These Tol'vir and Horde you see here are those who survived the battle; many of them are on the surface, escorting the helpless to the Eastern Kingdoms and north Kalimdor."  
"You fell in battle." Continued Lorga, and her following words caused Felassan to shoot the orc a glare: "A minion of the Old God pierced nearby your heart and you have been unconscious ever since."  
"And Wrathion?" Tieria asked with a cracking voice. The templar found herself reaching out to the wound in her chest upon Lorga mentioning it.  
"He's going over a new strategy." Said the Farseer while motioning her head at the door of Wrathion's room which laid in the main hall.

"I am going to see him." Declared Tieria, with a face paint with determination, but eyes still shining in fear.  
"I heard some Blacktalon claiming he is in a meeting." Mentioned Felassan, but Lorga shrugged him off, since everyone knew the Dragon Aspects have not arrived yet.  
"I am going to talk to him either way." Tieria repeated herself, and proceeded to walk again.

Neither Lorga nor Felassan attempted to stop her. However, they remained in their spot.  
"You didn't tell her that Wrathion stabbed her." Stated Felassan, somewhat surprised at the lie the Farseer forged. His gaze was fixated upon Tieria walking deeper into the main hall, but he noticed Lorga coldly shaking her head, while saying:  
"No, that is something the dragon himself has to tell her."

* * *

Tieria marched as swiftly as her body allowed her, towards the Black Prince's chamber, ignoring the odds stare from the Blacktalon agents or anyone else who now filled the halls of the Ebon Rest; they were most likely wondering about her unkempt appearance. Albeit Tieria was always the one to take well care of her looks - she couldn't care less at that particular moment.

Nonetheless, the moment her bare feet stepped into Wrathion's chamber, her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as the dragon was not alone; and the paladin was standing in nothing but a loose tunic in front of the King of the Alliance and his royal guards.  
Everyone had their eyes focused on the templar. Instinctively, the Alliance guards directed their hands on the hilt of their swords, ready to jump to the defense of their leader. But the young king reacted quickly in dismissing his soldiers, as he immediately recognized the paladin, albeit they met only once.

"Tieria!" Called out Wrathion while rising out from his seat. The templar's heart sank at the sound of Wrathion's voice, and she felt weak in her knees as she watched him approach her.  
Despite the ' _public'_ that was present in the room, Wrathion did not hesitate to rest his hands on her arms. He hissed lightly on the sensation of her icy cold skin, but nonetheless, he kept his hands on her and his crimson eyes roamed her every feature, analyzing her well-being.

"Rokash was supposed to inform me of your awakening." Breathed out Wrathion, his gaze never leaving hers. Tieria shrugged weakly in response.  
"I have been awake for no more than an hour, he insisted on me resting more before seeing you."  
"So much for following orders." Scoffed the Black Prince. A small smile formed on his lips, which prompted Tieria to smile as well, delighted to see the dragon and feel his touch.

A sound of a man cleaning his throat interrupted the templar and the paladin from cherishing their reunion. Tieria's cheeks intensified their red colour, as her eyes rested upon the King of the Alliance, Anduin Llane Wrynn.  
The young king analyzed her carefully, which made Tieria lower her head and bit her lower lip.

"I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll be taking my leave-" Tieria whispered shyly to Wrathion.  
"If I may," Intervened King Anduin whilst standing up. He sized up Tieria, his blonde brows frowning together as he glanced at her heavily bandaged torso and trembling body. "You look…" The young king was unable to find a proper and polite manner to express his thoughts, thus a chuckle escaped his lips as he said: "Not that well."

Tieria released an empty laugh; with her gaze still fixated on the floor, she plucked a couple of hair strands behind her ear and gave the king a nod.  
"Apparently, I was pierced down by a minion of the Corruptor, and fell unconscious until the end of the battle." Tieria recited Lorga's words.

Wrathion blinked, and controlled himself from not appearing too shocked. Most likely Rokash, or anyone Tieria has already spoken to, has sheltered the truth from her. He has never given the order neither to his Blacktalon nor his champions to act in such manner; Even though it was appalling to learn Tieria was lied to, Wrathion had to admit that the lie was serving him well at the moment.

"Are you in pain?" Inquired Anduin, to which Tieria nodded hesitantly. "Then, may I offer you to try my mending?"  
Tieria blinked, and looked up at Wrathion as if she desired his approval. The dragon instead gave a small shrug, much like her, he was taken surprised by the young king's sudden generosity.

King Anduin was known to be a gifted priest, and someone who prioritized the needs of others above his'. The look in his eyes was pure, it seemed he truly seemed to be concerned of Tieria's almost life-drained and horrific state, that he desired to aid her.

"I couldn't possibly accept, Your Majesty." The paladin said while shaking her head. But the young king extended his hand as a form of insisting, while his rose-pink lips were decorated with a modest smile.  
"I am not insisting in order for you to feel uncomfortable." Spoke the king softly, his eyes went down, fixated on her trembling, exposed legs. "But you seem to struggle to even stand."

Tieria suddenly felt Wrathion's warm hand on her back; the dragon seemed to give her a gentle nudge to accept the king's proposal. She hesitated once more, but the longer she stood in the middle of the room, practically burning out her entire energy to simply _stand,_ the paladin realized that the Light might ease her struggles. She would have healed herself, if she would not feel so weak.

She gave a silent nod to Anduin, then proceeded to walk towards the armchair which rested before the lit fireplace. The King of Stormwind followed the templar, and so did Wrathion.  
Tieria sank in the seat, resting as comfortably as possible and shut her eyes; but not before giving King Anduin another petite smile, while the king himself was removing his right gauntlet.

Warm, blinding ball of shimmering Light began emitting from Anduin's right hand; he slowly guided his hand from Tieria's face and stopped above the middle of her chest.  
Wrathion attentively watched as Anduin inhaled deeply and pressed his palm tenderly on her sternum. Upon the sensation of the priest's regenerating Light touching her, Tieria took in a relaxed exhale. Her tense muscles were visibly relaxing, and color gradually began returning to her delicate face.

Much like Tieria, Anduin remained with his eyes shut and his brows frowning; his mouth was only slightly opened as he sometimes breathed out a short prayer. One could not witness what was happening to her torso, due to the heavy bandaging; but her legs finally ceased from shaking, much like her fingers.  
When Anduin ceased his cast, and removed his palm off her with speed, Tieria released a loud gasp, which caused Wrathion to take a step closer to her.

Tieria breathed in and out heavily, blinking rapidly, but her expression was far more lively than before. And in mere moments, the paladin was smiling as large as her lips allowed her.  
Of course, that did not mean she was fully healed, she could still feel stinging pain in her chest and her muscles sore; but the templar no longer felt cold, and it was not much of a struggle for her to rise from the seat.

"I do hope I succeeded in lifting some pain." Murmured King Anduin while looking at Tieria who now was standing with her palms resting on her warmer, red cheeks.  
"You did, Your Majesty." Exhaled Tieria gratefully. "I believe I will need time to recover - but at least it does not hurt to stand on my feet." She gave him another smile as she said: "Thank you, Your Majesty."  
"I am happy to help." Said the young king humbly; his gaze turned to Wrathion, whose lips were curled into a grin as he roamed Tieria. But upon the dragon noticing the king's linger, his smile instantly vanished, and his features suddenly went cold.

Tieria licked her lips and began combing her hair with her fingers while scouring the room. Once again, by looking at the two royal guards which were positioned on each side of the door, the paladin realized that she in fact disturbted a gathering of a monarch.  
"I-I will be taking my leave. I'm sorry for disturbing your meeting." Tieria declared while already taking some steps back. "Wrathion, I will see you later?"  
Wrathion gave her a silent nod in response; then the templar gave a small bow to the young king and thanked him once more, before exiting the Black Prince's chamber.

Anduin waited until the door was closed behind Tieria, to turn to Wrathion with a teasing grin on his face. The Black Prince, who was already back in his seat at the end of the desk, shot a glare to the young king's sudden smile.

"I have never seen you smiling in such a manner." Observed Anduin; his words caused Wrathion's glare to only intensify.  
"I am not smiling, dear king." Replied Wrathion, who was in fact, _not_ smiling.  
"When she entered." Explained Anduin while gesturing with his head at the door, while pacing nonchalantly back to the chair he sat before. "When she smiled."  
The dragon simply rolled his eyes, and focused his attention on his nails instead of the king, and he spoke in a unflappable manner:  
"I was simply relieved to see her well - Tieria is an important asset to our crusade."

Anduin's lips left a chuckle, and relaxed in his seat. While Wrathion continued to glare and Anduin continued to smile, silence settled between the dragon and the king. Wrathion's face resembled a child pouting, which caused Anduin's chuckle to deepen. He noticed something odd in the Black Prince's behavior as soon as Tieria entered; a mannerism of gestures and smiles, Wrathion has never shown to anyone in the time that the king has known him.

"Wrathion, are you… _fond_ of this paladin?" Inquired Anduin so daringly; for a brief moment the young king felt as if he was thrown back in time, when his friendship with Wrathion was still in a good standing.  
"I fail to understand why that is in interest to you, Anduin." Wrathion spoke in a barren tone. "Besides, I have far more important tasks at hand than … _copulating_."  
"As you say." Concluded Anduin in an unconvincing tone. "Then, I suppose I should not be surprised when you are always standing inches away from your agents' lips. After all, they too, are important assets to your crusade."

Wrathion did not reply. He stood unmoving in his chair, his jaw set in a hardline and his glare still fixated on the young king. Eventually, the silence stretched out for too long, and Anduin realized that none of the words he breathed would make the Black Prince explain his unusual, tender behavior towards that particular paladin.

"Well, nonetheless." Breathed out Anduin, this time his tone was more severe and his smile vanished from his lips. "I wish her a healthy recovery… that wound seemed to have caused her more than mere physical pain."  
"What do you mean?" Wrathion asked as his brows snapped together, and he found himself pulling himself closer to the edge of the chair.  
"She feels… empty." The king licked his lips, and in his blue eyes, one could read that he was attempting to form a better explanation. "As if, a piece of her soul was absorbed by a warlock."

Wrathion placed his elbow on the desk, his hand covering his mouth as he began chewing on his bottom lip. He did not wish to overthink the young king's words, but the Black Prince began thinking that Tieria succumbing to the corruption of N'zoth might have done a perpetuating damage to her; albeit in the short moments that she was him, the dragon failed to notice anything out of ordinary aside from her severely weakened state.

"Let us divert from this topic." Pleaded Wrathion, since thinking of Tieria was currently an arduous thought. "And continue the conversation from before, regarding Pandaria."

* * *

Tieria stood by herself in her chamber for more than three hours. Her mind and body were still exhausted even after King Anduin's healing. The discovery of the loss of battle in Ny'alotha only added to her negative state. All that stress put the templar in another slumber, and she slept until the evening.

Rokash entering her chamber, with a new set of bandages and a tray of lobster stew, broke Tieria from her sleep. First the templar ate, this time with far more ease than the first time, given that her body no longer trembled with the aid of the healing Light.

During the time she had her supper, Felassan has also joined, to inform the templar of the current situation within the Ebon Rest.  
The demon hunter omitted the Ny'alotha details, much like during their previous conversation, and instead he talked of how currently the refugees are being escorted to safer lands and of Wrathion's upcoming gathering with the Dragon Aspects. _(Which obviously, surprised Tieria given the black dragon's last interaction with the Aspects)_

There was a lot of information Tieria soaked in that evening; both Felassan and Rokash could read in her dark brown eyes that the templar felt overwhelmed. Hence, after finishing her meal, the Illidari wished her a good night, and left her to have wounds being tended by Rokash, who spent his entire time reading out of his old book, instead of paying attention to the conversation between the templar and the demon hunter.

Rokash mentioned that Tieria's physical state was better, and the templar explained that the young king offered to heal him with his abilities. Nonetheless, much as Tieria speculated - her wounds were still severe, and her body would require a large quantity of time to rest in order to fully recover.

The young shaman removed the bandages from her arms and torso; and albeit Tieria felt somewhat shy having her exposed chest towards the young orc, she felt forced to bury that embarrassed feeling, as Rokash was simply focusing on healing her wound which was between her bosoms.  
He cleaned her bruises from shoulder and arms with the shamanic healing waters, and applied some herbal salves, then he began to bandage her again.

"What are you reading?" Inquired Tieria while glancing down at the old book on the bed, which Rokash seemed to be carrying everywhere he went.  
"Mother's journal." Replied the orc simply, his eyes never broke away from her left arm as he bandaged it neatly. Tieria eyed him oddly, his answer gave the impression that the orc was reading private and personal thoughts of his own mother without her approval. Rokash quickly caught on to the templar's assumption, and gave a more clear answer: "She gave it to me. Wants for it to be made into a book which every orc child has to read eventually."

Tieria gave him a nod; that explained why the particular book looked so dirty and clumbled, it perhaps was in possession of Farseer Lorga for many years.  
"She has seen it all, you know." Continued the young orc. "The orcs being deceived by Ner'zhul, the rise of the Horde, crossing the Dark Portal…" Rokash suddenly ceased from listing the horrors his people have gotten through, as he finished bandaging Tieria's arm. He formed a small knot on her wrist to keep the entire structure intact, then his eyes roamed Tieria analyzing if every bandage sat tightly on her torso and both arms.

"That should do it." Said the orc in a form of conclusion, as he rose from the bed. At that precise time - the door to Tieria's chamber opened - and Wrathion entered with a blank expression. Rokash found himself chuckling at the Black Prince's sudden presence and simply said:  
"Perfect timing, we have just finished."

Wrathion nodded at the orc, and watched as he gathered the empty bowl and mugs on a tray, as well as the used bandages.  
Tieria's eyes adorned with a glimmer as soon as she saw Wrathion, and her lips formed a small smile. The dragon's features also softened upon the sight of the templar smiling.

After Rokash took his leave, Wrathion took a seat next to Tieria on the bed. He did not have time to do or to react to anything, as he suddenly felt the templar's hands on his cheeks. She gently pulled him towards her, pressing her lips tenderly on his'.  
Wrathion seemed to forget everything that has occurred today the moment their lips touched; he sank into the kiss, as if he was experiencing it for the first time. Sensually and slowly, he kissed every inch of her lips; one of his hands found its way to cup her right cheek, and his thumb gently began caressing the large scar which rested there.

Tieria wrapped her arms around Wrathion's neck, it prompted the dragon to deepen their kiss. The dragon did not transform their amorous exchange into a lusting session, he remained to tenderly brush her lips against his', listening to every sound their kiss made and savoring the templar's taste.

When Tieria broke apart their kiss, she gazed upon Wrathion with a mesmerizing look. And as he glanced down at the templar, he stroked away a couple of her hair strands which covered her face, revealing her still exhausted features.

"Are we safe?" Inquired the paladin, referring to the fact that southern Kalimdor was under the control of the Old God.  
"We are." Reassured the Black Prince in a whisper. "For now, at least." He said with the corner of his lips slightly lifted up.

Tieria nodded and reached out to wrap her arms around Wrathion, pulling him to her. She buried her face in his chest, as her arms weakly held his waist. Albeit, he was not one for sweet embraces, Wrathion made no complaints. He felt it restorative at that moment, and he was well aware Tieria desperately needed a warm physical contact.

Thus, the dragon and the templar stood locked into the embrace silently, soaking in the feeling of each other's touch as if for the first time.  
It was then, when Wrathion had realized how exhausted he had been these past couple of days; and as he caressed Tieria, he wished for nothing more but to be able to go to sleep without putting himself through convoluting thoughts and memories of regrets and guilt.  
Now, with Tieria alive and somewhat in an improved state - the dragon hoped that a good night rest could be achieved. _At least once._

Wrathion pulled away from their embrace and rose off the bed, causing Tieria to look perturbed at him. The dragon reassured her with a charismatic smile.  
"Come," Whispered Wrathion softly while extending his hand before Tieria. The paladin placed her hand into his' without hesitation; his sensual smile intensified on his lips as he said: "My bed has grown cold without you."


	3. Apprehension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not anticipate to delay for so long; but I’ve had some health issues which resulted in a writing block. Hopefully I will be back up soon, and continue with my regular updates!
> 
> Enjoy this chapter~ ♥
> 
> You can also read this chapter on Fanfiction.net!

" _How can one small soul, make a greater being feel so fragile?"_

Wrathion blinked slowly, attempting to push away whatever form of thoughts in that morning. He gently caressed the sleeping templar's cheek, soaking in some time with Tieria before the start of the day.  
She laid quietly, deep in slumber and unaware of his touch. His eyes roamed her features whilst his brows began to descend into a frown, as Tieria all of a sudden felt unnaturally warm. She was developing a fever.

Nonetheless, the paladin remained sound asleep, breathing in and out in a tranquil rhythm.

Given that he has been restless for the past couple of days, and was in desperate need of sleep, the dragon has transformed into an unturnable solid rock during the night. With Tieria by his side, Wrathion has managed to rest for an acceptable amount of hours.  
But dawn was making its appearance; Wrathion knew that by the sound of footsteps and chatters reverberating from the main hall. The people of the Ebon Rest were waking up, thus the Black Prince had to as well.

But as stubborn as a kodo, the dragon refused to lift his head from the soft pillow, or crawl away from the warmness of the fur covers. He remained lying on his side while stroking Tieria's hair; a form of action which would be calming, if only Tieria's appearance wouldn't aggravate, bringing a sharp discomfort into Wrathion's chest.

Before his very eyes, the templar's skin turned pale and her breathing hastened; Wrathion directed his palm upon her cheek and forehead to feel that her temperature had risen. Her thinly shaped brows trembled and drew together; her sudden controned features made Wrathion draw the assumption that the paladin was experiencing a nightmare - something she claimed she has never been through. Or perhaps her sudden fever was bringing her severe uneasiness.

Whatever it was, it obviously harmed Tieria, and as a result - it alarmed Wrathion.

"Tieria." Called out Wrathion softly while pulling himself closer to the now-trembling templar. He rested his hand on her shoulder and began gently shaking her, in hope to break her away from her painful slumber. "Tieria!"

The paladin did not react to the dragon's calling; prompting Wrathion to use more strength. It took him more than three times until Tieria heard him and nearly jumped out of the bed akin to a startled feline.  
She inhaled sharply, her gaze seemed unfocused as she was blinking rapidly, attempting to fully comprehend her environment.

"Wrathion…" Tieria breathed out after finally waking up and lifting her torso to be on the same-level as the dragon she spoke to. The paladin rubbed her eyes before releasing a yawn.  
"You are running with a fever." Stated the dragon; he reached out to pluck a couple of her hair strands behind her ear, revealing her delicate features, then once again, he rested the back of his finger upon her forehead to feel her temperature.

Tieria's response was releasing a loud groan, as if she was acknowledging her state and was severely annoyed by it. She clenched her knees to her chest to have her forehead resting against them. Wrathion watched as she stood wordlessly in that particular pose; the overlong silence prompted the dragon to inquire:

"Are you in severe pain again?"  
"I feel… _drained_." Described the paladin. "It seems King Anduin's healing was only temporarily."  
"Rokash did tell you it will take longer for you to recover, didn't he?" Given the tone of his voice, the Black Prince's question resembled more of a statement; to which Tieria replied with a nod.  
"That … minion of N'zoth has done a lot of damage to me." Sighed Tieria melancholic before setting her mouth in a hard line.

Wrathion's eyes flickered at that statement, but he made no remark. While he loathed the matter of maintaining with the lie their comrades have crafted, the dragon felt it was necessary. There was no certainty if the templar would be comfortable with the fact that she succumbed to the will of N'zoth, and turned against her own friends and comrades, resulting in Wrathion stabbing her with the blade of the Black Empire.

Especially given her current state, the Black Prince considered that presently, the wisest choice was to omit the truth, and have Tieria believe that she fell in battle. Once the situation would be… _stable_ , the dragon would confess the truth.

"Have Rokash and Haliki examine you." Pleaded Wrathion calmly in a form of an order.  
"I will." Nodded Tieria, then she lifted her gaze at him. A smile appeared on her lips as soon as she made eye-contact with the dragon. "You'll have a busy day, I take it?"  
"Alexstrasza will not arrive here today, but nonetheless we have a lot to plan regarding our upcoming assault and weapon."  
"Felassan mentioned that the Forge of Heart is… _overloaded_. Can it be mended?"  
"If it wouldn't be…" A dark smile appeared on Wrathion's lips. "Then we would be numbering our days."

Tieria swallowed; that thought made her blood run cold. To wake up and hear that one of the most terrifying foe emerged victorious was a nightmare coming to reality. Her faith has certainly been shaken after witnessing Ebon Rest filled with defeated armies, having her body nearly giving up from functioning and gazing upon the distressed expressions of her friends. It was only Wrathion's confidence that a second attempt can be accomplished, which halted Tieria from succumbing to defeat.

The templar found herself reaching out and wrapping her arms around Wrathion's neck. As if hugging him would wipe away all the frightening thoughts; and it some manner - it did. The moment the two of them locked into an embrace, Tieria felt her heartbeat reaching to a stable pacing.  
She buried her face in his shoulder while the dragon hugged her waist tightly. They stood silently in a tight embrace until Wrathion eventually pulled away.

The half-elven-appearing dragon gave Tieria an alluring smile and cupped her cheek, for a brief moment he forgot her feverish state, and pulled the templar for a short kiss. Despite its short duration, Wrathion fully savored the taste of Tieria's lips and the feeling of her touch, as her arms were still settled around his neck. He was soft and tender, which was unlike him; but he was willing to accomodate to the fragile state of his templar.

Tieria released a soft moan after they broke apart, her arms refusing to entangle away from the dragon. Her smile vanished away from her lips upon witnessing a missing shine in Wrathion's eyes. In an amount of a second, his gaze was cold, as if he was filled with regret.

"Is something wrong?" Tieria could not help herself from holding in her concern. As a reply, Wrathion released a small chuckle, charmed by the templar's worry. As his lips once again curved into a smile, he shook his head and cupped her chin; his alluring gaze brought goosebumps on her pale skin.  
"Nothing should concern you now, Tieria. Fixate on your recovery." Purred Wrathion before pecking her lips.

She gave him a nod, albeit the templar felt unsettled by the answer she had received. But it didn't take too long for Tieria to make the connection that Wrathion must be simply strained from what is about to come: he had to lead a crusade against an Old God, after the world suffered a great defeat from him. Even a dragon would feel restless carrying such a burden.

Her fingers found themselves gently caressing the tips of his neatly arranged facial hair, while she directed her lips to kiss his right cheek firmly. Wrathion released a short, purring-like chuckle at the sensation of Tieria's kiss; and the paladin swore she saw a faint red-shade appearing on the dragon's cheeks.

"Albeit I am not fond of it - I will stay out of your way today." Declared the paladin while rising out from the bed. She had to take a long pause, as her head suddenly was spinning and her vision blurred. "I'll try to find Rokash without collapsing on my way." Said Tieria after recuperating. She let out a forced giggle, in an attempt to lighten the situation. It did cause Wrathion to chuckle as well.  
"Do update me on your recovery, dear templar." Pleaded Wrathion.

Tieria nodded while running her fingers through her hair; upon the feeling of the thickness of her strands, the templar decided she will first run a bath before anything else.  
She kissed Wrathion good bye, who still chose to remain in the comforts of the bed a little longer. Sadly, that would be deemed impossible; as the moment Tieria opened the door to his chamber, Calthaire stood before them, her hand lifted as she was about to knock.

The templar jumped startled, her cheeks suddenly flushed red as she gazed upon the kaldorei who stood with a stone expression. She heard Wrathion releasing a small sigh, most likely out of irritation that he could not rest longer as he intended on.  
"I have news." Declared Calthaire without any morning greeting.  
Tieria turned her head to witness Wrathion about to rise out of the bed, but upon realizing that he was unclothed underneath the furs, the Black Prince remained down.

"I will be back momentarily." The kaldorei Black Talon said whilst taking a step back, swiftly understanding that her master required some time. Tieria gave Wrathion another smile before leaving as well, allowing the Black Prince to prepare by himself for another dreadful day of planning against the Old God.

* * *

"Yer doin' it wrong." Scolded Caradin as he glanced at Felassan's hand tying the set of ropes into an inexplicably confusing knot.  
"You are a bad teacher then." Replied the demon hunter simply.  
"Nay! Ye're a bad student!" Barked the dwarf. "I asked ye multiple times if ye understood how to tie 'em and ye simply nodded. Now I see that ye haven't, and simply were too proud ta ask again!"

A simple scoff was the only response Caradin received from the Illidari; the dwarf rolled his eyes, and resumed hammering the planks of wood together, to create a stable body for the new training dummies.  
Considering that Felassan had actually destroyed _all_ of them the previous day, Caradin tasked himself _(and the demon hunter, somehow)_ to create a whole new set of training dummies, with materials he had purchased from Ratchet yesterday.

The entire process of crafting, allowed Caradin to escape the Old God infested reality; albeit only temporarily. He fixated on making wooden swords, painting the target practices, trying the sand-filled sacks with an elaborate knot around the body, instead of thinking of the fact that N'zoth was expanding his dark forces with each passing moment.

"This is absurd." Complained the dwarf, the noise of the hammer forced him to speak aloud. "I wrote a letter to Eleina for the first time since I left fer this… _campaign_ ; and ye know what I wrote to her? Not a message of happy news that I will return in time fer our weddin'... instead I wrote her an order to accept a number of feline-centaur-lookin' refugees and goblin cartel into Hearthglen."

Caradin released another sigh, and tossed the hammer on the floor in annoyance. The heavy instrument echoed loudly upon collapsing on the ground.  
"This is depressin'..." Admitted Caradin bitterly.  
"You'd think someone with your experience would have a better grasp of such situations." Observed the demon hunter, never having his 'gaze' interrupted from looking down at the rope in his hands, which he tied the sack with.

"I lived through the orc invasion, I led armies against the Scourge." Replied Caradin after an empty snort. "Even fought mad dragons… but I never encountered a foe which turns me own friends against me, and requires voodoo magic to be killed."  
"' _Voodoo magic'…_ " Chuckled Felassan at the dwarf's choice of words.  
"Ah, and Tia…" Continued Caradin melancholic whilst shaking his head.  
"Caradin." Interrupted the demon hunter Caradin's complaint. "I have told you - Tieria has woken up; and from what I have seen yesterday - she seemed well."  
"Well I'll believe it when I see her! It's already afternoon and that calf of Lorga's still claims she needs ta be left alone!"  
"Well, I ignore the words of the Farseer's ' _calf'_." A female voice giggled from the entrance.

Caradin's eyes widened as he watched Tieria's petite silhouette resting against the archway stone doorway to the training grounds. It seemed she had just sneaked in quietly in the chamber and only caught Caradin's last sentence.

"Lass!" Exclaimed Caradin while jumping from the stool, dropping the wooden dummy which was on his lap in the process. He approached Tieria with haste, his arms open widely so he could pull the templar into an embrace. "Praise every bein' on this bloody world, ye're alive!"

As he wrapped her arms around her waist and pressed his cheek on her abdomen, Tieria rested her palms on his shoulders. Faint puffing was heard coming from Caradin, as if the dwarf was fighting back tears of joy.

Eventually Caradin pulled away, his cheeks were blushing and his blue eyes gleamed as he looked up at Tieria.  
"How ye feelin', Tia?" Inquired the dwarf while reaching out to hold her left hand. He began guiding her to Felassan and offered the templar to take a seat on the stool the dwarf sat on. Once she was seated, Felassan reached out to her shoulder, gently squeezing it in a sign of a mute greeting. Even he was smiling.

"I was running with fever this morning, but Haliki crafted a potion which made it go away; though, he claims it will only last for a day or so." Explained the paladin before releasing a sign. It has only been a day since she has awakened, but the templar already felt exhausted of her fatigued state. "Both Rokash and Haliki insist that I should tread lightly with my activities at least for a week. My body seemed to have entangled itself in a state of unstableness: one moment I feel fine, next thing I know I can barely hold my body weight. They claim my body is suffering a chain of after-battle shock."

Her gaze suddenly fell, looking down at her hands which were folded in her lap. She has had grave injuries before, but never has she experienced something on this scale. It brought the templar a feeling of self-loathing; she was the only one out of Wrathion's chosen champions, to fall in battle. And now, instead of standing by the dragon's side to aid him in preparing the second assault - she was spending her time being coddled by Rokash and Haliki: drinking potions and medicinal tea, eating a selective type of meal, and lying in bed in an attempt to sleep off her pain.

The worst of all was the fact that Rokash claimed that this state will not pass away soon; and Tieria already began to fear what that will mean to her in terms of battle.

Caradin's eyes surveyed Tieria; he did notice stagnant body-movement and weary blinks from the templar, which were perhaps normal behavior after what she has been through.  
He found himself pressing his lips thinly against one another, stopping himself from speaking out loud about the fact that Felassan and the others have declared that Tieria should not be spoken about what truly happened in Ny'alotha; now until Wrathion would tell her at least.

The Argent Crusade sergeant was obviously furious at that statement, and he has already had a long argument about it with Felassan earlier in the day. He was furious that Wrathion in fact had the ' _power'_ to order Caradin to lie to his dearest friend, much like he was furious at himself for not being able to prevent it in the first place.  
Felassan insisted that this choice was for Tieria's own good, thus Caradin bit his tongue.  
"Either way," Sighed Tieria and forced a smile in her lips. Her body might be unstable, but the templar fought hard to at least keep her spirit calm, by ignoring the negative thoughts which haunted her. "The atmosphere in the Ebon Rest is certainly… different. How are you two processing this?"  
"We are waiting on Wrathion and the Farseer with her mate to come up with a new assault." Explained the demon hunter, then he gently lifted the sack filled with sand to demonstrate it to Tieria. "For now we are working like some brainless peons."  
"Ah! Making Caradin's special training dummies I see." Giggled the paladin.

As she glanced at Felassan's work in progress, her mind made her think back of the time of her adolescence, when Caradin would teach her how to craft those particular dummies. The dwarf claimed it was a part of her sword-mastering training, but deep down the young Tieria simply believed he was looking for excuses to have someone do his own work for him.  
Either way, she has made quite an amount of practice dummies in her youth thanks to Caradin.

"Is he annoying you about the manner you tie them?" Inquired Tieria teasingly. Her smile widened when she witnessed Felassan's eyebrows lifting up in awe as he gave her a nod, eventually she let out a loud laugh. "Caradin's never satisfied unless you make an over-complicated knot." She turned her head to the dwarf as she said: " _Nobody_ cares about those knots on a practice dummy, Caradin!"

The dwarf's cheeks flushed red and his bushy brows snapped together. His knuckles now rested on his hips and he jumped to his own defense:  
"Good knots have less chances of untying and breaking apart the structure of the dummy!" Argued Caradin.  
"These training dummies - we make them _to be_ broken apart." Indicated Felassan calmly but in a befuddled tone. The dwarf's face went stone, but the tip of his nose could not help itself from not trembling. He took his time into thinking of an elaborate counter argument but he could only say the following:

"" _We made them to be broken."_ " Repeated Caradin in a mocking manner; mimic the demon hunter's deep voice whilst also making him sound like a murloc. His child-like attitude caused both Tieria and Felassan to laugh; Caradin scoffed and waved his arms in the air, fuming while cursing, causing their laughter only to intensify and filling the halls of Ebon Rest with echoes which have not been heard in quite some time.

* * *

"Scouts report that the armies of the Black Empire have every settlement from Uldum and Tanaris under their control. They keep the weak to drain out their souls, most likely to practice their void magic. The strong ones, they torment until they succumb to the Deep One." Lorga paced around before the lit fireplace in Wrathion's chamber as she spoke. "And as predicted, Feralas was attacked. The kaldorei and the taurens who live in that region were lucky enough to push back the first assault. But it is only a matter of time until the Black Empire brings reinforcements and attacks again; hence Nazgrel has deployed a squad of Horde soldiers to escort them."

"All the Grimtotems tribes which lived in the Thousand Needles have been wiped out. And the centaur clans." Added Rehgar, who unlike his mate, was seated across from Wrathion. "That adds another territory fallen under the leadership of the Old God. And with Gadzetan now used as a garrison for the Deep One - Azeroth has lost one of the largest trading centers." Sighed the gladiator shaman with bitterness.  
"However, his army is moving fairly slowly. We theorize it is because we took down some of his generals: Xanesh, and Prophet Skitra, who was killed by Speaker Magni and your Blacktalon during the assault." Lorga continued to report. "Perhaps N'zoth is moving his forces haltingly because he is harboring a bigger army. But-"

The Farseer cut her sentence upon noticing that she did not hold the dragon's attention. Wrathion had his gaze fixated on the side, staring emptily at the wall with his head resting against his knuckle. One would say his thoughts were directed elsewhere, but to Lorga it looked like the Black Prince was _bored_ of this discussion.

Her golden eyes directed themselves over the desk, scouring through the various items which laid on its surface, such as maps, ink jars, quills, parchments and even tomes. Lorga hastened towards the desk and took in her hands the thickest tome she set her eyes upon, and slammed it before Wrathion. The noise it made the moment it was tossed on the desk was loud enough to get the Black Prince's attention on the orc; he lifted his gaze, agitated and angry by the sudden aggressive sound.

"You are not even listening to me!" Scolded Lorga. She rested her hands on her hips and glared at the black dragon who was forced to abandon his thoughts to listen to the Farseer. "I can be compassionate… and I can understand that it is difficult to get a grip of yourself when everything around you is collapsing; _I have been there._ " Her harsh tone did not sound as compassionate as she claimed to be. "But you must remain vigilant!"

"That is enough, Farseer." Begged Wrathion calmly while lifting his palm before the orc. "Just because I am not reacting to you - does _not_ mean I am not listening." He replied in a firm and cold tone, which turned Lorga's gaze into a glare.  
Rehgar, as usual, remained silent whenever there was a spat between his mate and the Black Prince; he loathed involving himself in such conversations because he always seemed to take the 'wrong side'.

"It is no wonder N'zoth is advancing." Continued the black dragon, his features hardening as he thought of the Old God. "And hearing of his conquers provides nothing to me. Instead, we need to forge a strategy to put an end to this."  
"We are doing what we can." Lorga argued, her voice drifting away from the harsh tone she spoke in before. "Unless you actually have a strategy - I'd suggest we continue on discussing how we can halt the Deep One's advance."

Wrathion's lips curled into an egotistical smile; one he was aware was annoying the Farseer. He kept his gaze at her, watching as her glare intensified. He waved his hand at Calthaire while keeping his eyes at the orc. The kaldorei Blacktalon understood the command without the need of words, and reached out to a particular scroll from the table and approached Lorga to hand it to her.

The orc immediately unrolled the parchment, her honey-colored eyes blinked puzzled, as she did not anticipate to gaze upon a ink drawing of what seemed a manner of an ancient mechanism, in a design she was little familiar with.

Silently, while still fixated on the sketch, Lorga approached Rehgar and placed the scroll before him to have her mate analyze it as well. His silence was a sign that the gladiator shaman was just as mystified as her. But after a longer moment to examine the drawing, Rehgar began to make assumptions:  
"I have been this architecture before… the mogu?" He blinked while scratching chin.

"Have you ever visited the land of Pandaria, Farseer?" Wrathion interrupted the two orcs from pondering at the sketch. Lorga rolled her eyes as she asked:  
"How is that relevant?"  
"Allow me to rephrase the question:" The Black Prince purred in his confident voice while readjusting himself in his chair. "Are you aware that there are Titan facilities in Pandaria?"

"Given that the heart of an Old God resided deep in that land… that fact does not surprise me." Replied the Farseer; her heart suddenly felt heavy as the memory of Garrosh Hellscream, the son of her once-chieftain and friend, succumbed to the corruption of Y'Shaarj. It was during the Pandaria expedition that the Warsong-originated Warchief located the heart of the eldritch horror, and turned him into madness; which led to the events of Siege of Orgrimmar where many of Lorga's comrades and loved one have perished, including Hellscream himself.

"There are many powerful artifacts on the exotic continent. An unnumbered amount of those artifacts have been hidden or salvaged by the mogu. Including the Engine of Nalak'Sha, a titan structure which the Thunder King Lei Shen, has repurposed its technology to further advance his empire, and used the extraordinary machine to shape flesh and stone, into new living creatures." Wrathion's own words caused his mind to visualize everything he spoke of.

Lorga and Rehgar have not added anything to the conversation just yet; they allowed the Black Prince to form a conclusion to his speech, albeit they both already had a sense of what that conclusion would be. Calthaire in the meantime remained silent, as always she stood behind Wrathion, monitoring the environment like a hawk.

"I have been in contact with the Lorewalkers: historians of Pandaria. News of the Old God has reached them as well, thus they are eager to aid us in our cause." Wrathion once again waved his hand before Calthaire and the night elf reached out to grab the large folded parchment on the table and opened it before the two shamans, revealing the massive map of Pandaria before them. In red ink, certain mountains and caves locations were circled across the entire continent, as well as one in the middle of it, where it was written " _The Seat of Knowledge"_.

"The Engine has multiple entrances, as it spans the entirety of Pandaria." Continued the Black Prince, unlike Lorga and Rehgar who had their attention on the map, the dragon's gaze rested upon the orcs. Eventually he rose from his seat, and pacing back and forth alongside the length of the desk. "However, many of those entries have either been destroyed or sealed by the mogu after Lei Shen's death… _the first one_. It seemed they feared that others would locate the mechanism, and use it against them."

"You claim that the mogu have altered the engine; how certain are you that it be put to use in its altered state?" Lorga inquired.  
"We do not need to employ the mechanism." Intervened Rehgar while still analyzing the over-sized map. "Its titan essence simply needs to be redirected to the Forge of Heart."  
"Very well..." Nodded Lorga, however the tone indicated that there was a follow-up: "If we travel to Pandaria to seek a titan Forge - N'zoth will follow our trail, _your_ trail." She said while nudging her head at Wrathion.

"He will." Admitted Wrathion bitterly after releasing a sigh of annoyance. "And I fear… I am _certain_ that his forces will invade Pandaria in an attempt to stop us… while also taking the twisted pleasure of destroying that land."  
"To our knowledge, N'zoth's lackeys are already seeking other titan facilities in order to destroy the chances of being imprisoned again. He is afraid; and it is only a matter of time before he discovers the forge in Pandaria." Rehgar said while laying back in his chair, finally taking his eyes off the map.

"We do not know for how long the Horde and the Alliance, as well as the other factions such as the druids of the Cenarion Circle or the Argent Crusade, even the Zandalari, can push back the attacks on the other facilities." Lorga surmised before asking: "When do we depart?"  
"Have the necessary preparations be made, while I wait for Alexstrasza and the others arrival." Ordered Wrathion. "The Lorewalkers have already sent out expeditions to locate the Engine and we are meant to join them as soon as I conclude my discussion with the Life-Binder; in the meantime the pandaren will send me reports of their progress." Once his sentence was concluded, Wrathion returned to his seat.

"We take the small force we had in Ny'alotha - that way we might attract less attention from the Old God. There is no doubt that he might already have scouts scattered throughout the world." Rehgar already began forming the strategy outloud.  
"We leave the wounded ones behind, even those who did fight with us in the Sleeping City." Lorga declared with her gaze fixated upon the dragon; Wrathion instantly understood that the Farseer was specifically mentioning Tieria; which made the Black Prince swallow heavily and look away from the orc.

"Speaker Magni shall also join us in this expedition; the Forge of Heart will be safe in the hands of King Phaoris, M.O.T.H.E.R and Ebonhorn." Wrathion added to which Lorga nodded.  
"Let us hope that this engine has enough power to recharge our weapon against Him."  
"We can no longer hope, Farseer." The Black Prince said in a grim tone. " _We act_."

* * *

The lack of windows made it difficult for one to be able to tell the time in the Ebon Rest. Yet somehow, Wrathion was always aware; perhaps it was a dragon thing.  
His morning and noon were spent with Farseer Lorga and Rehgar; during the afternoon he picked out the Blacktalon agents who would travel to Pandaria ahead of him to scour the areas. Then, there were more missives to write; reports to Speaker Magni and other leaders who were fighting off minions of the Black Empire.

Time went by slow and fast simultaneously, and by dusk Wrathion was exhausted.

He groaned while practically letting himself fall into the armchair by the fireplace. The dragon took a sip of his bourbon, letting the bitter liquor relax his tense muscles, after what seemed an eternity of a day. Although the alcohol did not have the same effect on the dragon as it did on mortals, he simply enjoyed its burning sensation and taste.

With his free hand he reached to unbutton his tunic, then he removed the golden necklace he was so fond of wearing, and carefully tossed on the chair closest to him, where his long coat was also thrown. He sank in his seat, stretching his legs whilst taking another sip of his drink.

The dragon listened to the sound of logs cracking in the burning fire and watched the flame dancing in the stone furnace, attempting to clear his mind of all the thoughts which troubled him.

But his state of tranquil was swiftly interrupted by the sound of the door to his chamber opening. It made Wrathion's inhale sharply, since he ordered Calthaire not to be disturbed by anyone for the remaining day. But his glare immediately vanished and his position relaxed, as it was Tieria who entered; and her ' _disruption'_ was quite welcome in fact.

She looked different in the contrast of this morning; her hair was shiny and fluffy, kept in a high ponytail hairdo as she always preferred. Instead of the oversized tunic the templar wore before, her attire consisted of a white buttoned tunic with its bottom length kept in a pair of high-waist grey trousers, a brown leather belt and a pair of boots, made out of the same material as the belt.

The templar's appearance was certainly fairer than before, but Wrathion still noticed a weak gleam in her eyes, and the color of her skin was not as ruddy as it was usual. Nonetheless, she approached the dragon with a smile on her lips, which prompted him to form a small grin as well.

"How are you feeling?" Inquired Wrathion, he extended his free arm before her, and used it to hold Tieria's waist as soon as the templar took a sit on his lap. The moment she was besides him, the scent of fresh apples deriving from her freshly washed hair, engulfed his nostrils.

"I've had better days… but I have also had worse." Confessed Tieria, she attempted to sound cheerful, but the dragon detected weariness in her tone. "Yesterday was certainly much worse. Nonetheless, my fever is gone - for now at any rate. And the _tea…_ Rokash made me drink, made me sleep for a large portion of the day."

She ran his fingers through his hair as she admired his half-elven features.  
"I can read from your face that you are exhausted, but I have to ask: is there any progress regarding our battle?" Inquired the templar somewhat timidly; she bit her lower lips as Wrathion's gaze dimmed before her. But nonetheless, the dragon pulled a smile at her.  
"We are advancing, dear templar." Reassured Wrathion after savoring his drink. "If you will be in a stable state tomorrow, I promise to go into details about the upcoming strategy."  
"That sounds negotiable." Nodded Tieria, satisfied at the promise the dragon delivered.

Wrathion's hand found itself cupping her cheek, pulling the templar to meet his lips. His kiss was hungry, aching for physical touch and unwinding. Tieria happily returned his kiss; for a moment time had stopped, and nothing existed but the dragon and the templar.  
It didn't take too long until their amorous exchange intensified; hasting breaths escaped their lips as their tongues intertwined, Wrathion's hand reached out to unbutton Tieria's tunic.

"Wrathion, wait…" Tieria breathed out while gently pushing the dragon's mouth away from her lips. "Do not make it harder for me…" The templar pleaded softly; her eyes gleamed sadly, as if she loathed saying those words. "Despite _all_ this discomfort, my body somehow manages to thirst for lust… but I am in no shape for it." Tieria gave him a weak shake with her head as she said: "I can barely lift my arms."

Wrathion let out a soft chuckle and ran his hand to gently stroke Tieria's arm.

"Who said you have to lift anything?" Whispered the dragon sensually. Tieria giggled but then she released a whimsical sigh and shook her head again.  
"You aren't exactly… gentle when it comes to love-making; I do not wish to risk aggravating my wound." After a small pause, she smiled teasingly and began caressing her cheeks. Her eyes suddenly flickered as she whispered: "Though there are other methods of pleasure. Involving less… body involvement."

Her cheeks began gleaming in a red shade. Perhaps the timing of such thoughts _were_ inappropriate… but Tieria was always the one to use the pleasures of the flesh to get away from stressful situations - this time it wasn't different.

Exhausted mind and body be damned, she desired it, and so did he.

"Oh?" Purred the Black Prince; the sight of Tieria's alluring gaze suddenly made him forget about every trouble. "Enlighten me..."  
Tieria removed herself from sitting on his lap, gently arranging herself on her knees before the dragon. Wrathion watched as she pulled closer to kiss his chest, then trailed her lips lower, brushing against his stomach, while her hands found their way on the buttons of his breeches.

Wrathion allowed her to remove his black trousers and undergarments. Tieria ran her palms on his inner thighs before taking his manhood in her dainty fingers. It pulsed and hardened at her touch, even before the templar could begin to tantalize it.  
She drew in closer whilst plucking it up and down in a slow maneuver, the sound of Wrathion's breaths being her only guidance if she brought him satisfaction.

The dragon shut his eyes and sank in his seat; his hips buckled involuntarily upwards, and his hands reached out to tangle in her hair in a feverish, instinctual attempt to draw her even closer.  
The feeling of her lips tenderly kissing his arousal set Wrathion's fire on stomach. His fingers were wrapped around his glass so tightly that one believed it would fracture soon.

Tieria flicked her tongue tentatively along the length of his manhood, enjoying taking the dragon in such manner. She trailed her tongue up and down, leaving kisses in between. Eventually the templar rested her lips on the tip, giving Wrathion a small smirk before taking its length as much as her mouth permitted.

The dragon did not hold back on releasing a loud moan of satisfaction upon sensing Tieria's moist lips wrapping his manhood. Her mouth was soft and wet, and the feel of her inner cheeks massaging his length brought him in a state of ardor.  
She guided her head back and forth, in a slow manner, since currently her body did not permit any other way. Nonetheless, Wrathion's breath soon came in short, harsh gasps as she worked him rough.

Soft moans were heard coming from the templar, but not as vocal and lusty as Wrathion's. She continued in a rhythmic pace, engulfing in his taste.  
Wrathion realized that it would not be long before she unravelled him completely. His fingers tightened the grip of her locks, forcing Tieria to dig her nails into his thigh, as a manner of saying that his restraint on her was too tight.

The dragon swiftly caught up on that, and removed his fingers from her hair and simply rested his palm at the back of her head. Tieria continued without pausing, guiding her lips along his hardened manhood, with her tongue vellicating around it, as she listened to the dragon breathing out her name in sighs of lust.

His chest tightened and his moans grew louder as climax was washing over him. Without realizing he pushed Tieria's head deeper in, making her devour his entire length while he groaned in satisfaction and allowed his orgasm to take him over.  
Wrathion sinking even deeper in the armchair was Tieria's sign that he was consumed, and she pulled away. For a moment the templar remained on her knees, wiping away the corner of her lips.

"I take it, you enjoyed it?" The templar giggled breatheslly while reaching out to the back of her head. Wrathion grinned, his muscles visibly relaxed as the pleasure of the climax still lingered.

Tieria allowed Wrathion to recover for a moment, before climbing on his lap again. Her lips formed a smile to see the dragon's expression painted with satisfaction. She cuddled in his embrace, allowing his warm body to heat her up, soothing away her pain and distress.

Wrathion choked his drink down, before lifting Tieria up and laying her on the bed. His fingers traced her cheekbones and jawlines, gently lowering to her neck and collarbone. As he stripped her, the templar smiled at him while chewing on her bottom lip. Breathlessly waiting for her share of pleasure.  
"Your turn now, dear templar…" He whispered in her ear, causing Tieria to arch her back whilst trembling with ecstasy.

The dragon began planting kisses on her shoulder and neck. His attention broke away from the templar, and instead was fixated on her bandaged chest, where in the center underneath the linen wrapping, was the wound he punctured. He felt something gripping inside of him; and suddenly the memory of him stabbing Tieria and his own assault failing.

"Wrathion?" Tieria's soft voice broke him away into reality. He blinked, gazing into her dark brown eyes which were filled with concern. Something in his chest ached as he looked at the templar, and the dragon loathed that he could not detect what was the nature of this emotion.

Nonetheless, he forced himself to ignore it. He brushed away her concern by kissing her firmly before guiding his lips lower, to leave a trail of kisses unto the templar's body. He focused on listening to her soft, high-pitched moans as his tongue tasted her soft skin.

Despite being in that intimate moment, as he satisfied Tieria, many thoughts and feelings surged through the dragon, but a particular one stood out:

_Is the price of holding a cherished one too high?_


	4. Deficit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tad bit of a trouble to respect my own schedule regarding the updates, I thank everyone for being so patient! ♥
> 
> You can also read this chapter on Fanfiction.net!

_Her own cries compelled pain in the ears. The sinister laughing withal, continued to enjoy the torment. Flesh ached from flaming pain, blood boiled in misery, the spirit shattered like glass. Fear was felt in the very bones.  
And the calls of aid were silent by the dark presence. Nothing could be heard in the depths, apart from hymns of corruption..._

Goosebumps formed on Tieria's skin as a cold chill suddenly attacked her blanket-covered body; her chapped lips released a sharp breath, and her eyes felt forced to open. Although she was under layers of thick fur, and even feeling Wrathion's body heat, as he slept next to her; Tieria felt as if she was in a block of ice.

She lifted her torso from the soft bed, without paying mind that her drastic movement might awaken the sleeping dragon. Fortunately he seemed hardly affected by it, for now.

Once she was fully awake - Tieria felt irritated. For the past three days her health-state has improved. Albeit the weakened feeling in her body prolonged in that time, the templar was at least able to once again attend the Black Prince's gatherings; where she finally learnt the next step to Wrathion's campaign: seeking for the Titan facility hidden by the mogu race in the depths of Pandaria, in order to restore its Titan essence and infuse it into the Forge of Heart.

In the following few days, as far as her allowed - Tieria aided the Ebon Rest. She assisted Wrathion in writing and sending more missives to nearly every settlement on Azeroth, warning about the upcoming threat, reassigning the roles and tasks of the Blacktalon as per Wrathion's orders, and simply ensuring that the refugees have their needs fulfilled.

For a brief moment, Tieria felt hopeful that she had fully recovered, and would be able to once again join her comrades in the campaign against the Black Empire. But she had yet to test her physical strength, thus the templar arranged to duel with Caradin and Felassan the following day.

But in that particular midnight - cold, thirst and restrain, was all Tieria could feel. All the positive sentiments washed had away.  
All of a sudden, even breathing became a difficult task; making the paladin glance down at the set of bandages which were wrapped around her torso.

That must be the source of that tight, air-blocking sensation which affected her breathing - the bandages.

With her lightly trembling fingers, Tieria took off her night tunic, letting it fall on the floor of Wrathion's chamber. Then she began undoing the knots on the side of her chest, which held the set of bandages together, and unwrapped the bandages from around her torso.  
A not-so-quiet sigh of relief escaped Tieria's lips once she freed herself from the itching, tight bandages. She did not remember Rokash wrapping them so inflexible; they certainly did not feel that overly tight before she retired for the night. Either way, she felt liberated, albeit her bare chest was cold.

Now unto the second discomfort - the thirst.

The fireplace, in which coals were still burning weakly, was the only source of light in Wrathion's room during their sleep. Even though the fire was illuminating from across the room, its warm orange light succeeded to reach even the bed; aiding Tieria in noticing a small jug of water and an empty glass resting on the nightstand which was on her side of the bed.

The paladin dragged herself close enough to be able to reach the pitcher and pour herself a glass of the the crystal-clear liquid. She chugged the whole glass; then she poured some more; and once again she chugged the water down, feeling the cold and refreshing liquid streaming down inside of her.  
She continued to pour and drink until she realized that she had emptied the entire jug; and yet, she still was thirsty.

With utmost difficulty, Tieria removed herself from the bed and dressed up; lazily buttoning her tunic, without bothering to look at the fact that the buttons weren't aligned with the other side of the tunic. She put on her boots and grabbed the bundle of used bandages whilst gazing up Wrathion, who was deep in slumber.

The dragon was undisturbed by the templar's movement. He slept serene; the left side of his face was buried in the pillow, one of his arms resting across his stomach while the other one resting lazily on the surface of the bed.  
The corner of Tieria's lips lifted up, something about watching Wrathion sleeping peacefully calmed her spirit. She briefly wondered if he dreamed, and what those dreams contained.

Nonetheless, Tieria's gaze did not remain lingering upon the dragon for too long. On the tip of her toes, she exited Wrathion's chamber, and took towards the right side of the hallway, making her way to the kitchen.  
She attempted to push the door open as quietly as possible, as not to awake those who slept on the floor of the corridor. However, the templar failed to remain silent as a gasp escaped her lips once she stepped in the kitchen, startled to find an unexpected, tall silhouette inside the chamber.

"Ah, Haliki!" Breathed out the templar at the sight of the Zandalari troll. He was sitting at one of the wooden tables, helping himself with a mug of ale and a block of cheese with bread. An open book stood before him; it seemed the druid was enjoying a light snack and a good read during midnight.

His blue eyes widened at the sight of Tieria, and as he rose from his seat, the druid began analyzing the templar. He did not speak up yet however, taking his time to finish chewing the piece of cheese.  
Tieria gave him a modest smile, then she glanced at the barrels of water which were stacked in a corner of the room.

"De pain is not letting you sleep?" Inquired Haliki while watching Tieria grab the nearest steel mug and removing the lid from one of the barrels. She first drank three full mugs of water before answering to the Zandalari:  
"No, not pain. Just this… unsettling feeling." Described the templar while filling a fourth mug of water. Haliki's eyes were set on her hands, he attentively analyzed the light tremble of the templar.

"I feel like the first day when I awoke - dryness, discomfort, _cold…_ " Another sigh left Tieria's lips, followed by a small inner panic; if her nauseating state is returning, she might be compelled once again by Rokash and Haliki to avoid engaging in ventures to aid her comrades. The templar couldn't bear the thought of lying in bed, feeling weak and worthless again. But she also couldn't ignore the state of discomfort and illness, which suddenly enveloped her mind and body.

"Ya have fever?" Haliki continued to interrogate. Tieria reached out to press her palm against her forehead, then her cheek, attempting to get a hold of her body temperature.  
"No." She replied with a shake of the head.

Haliki's lips were pressed thinly against one another, he fell into a deep thought. Pondering the state of the paladin and its causes. Well, he _did_ know the causes, but the druid felt perplexed about how this… _sickness_ could be fully treated.

He had seen warriors suffering from post-battle shock, throwing those souls into a state of delirium and paranoia, as well as constant physical weakness. But what the Zandalari was witnessing with Tieria was a first.  
To Haliki, it seemed as if the corruption from the paladin had not been fully retracted by the blade; he felt that fragments of the Old God yet remained, and constantly earned to attack Tieria, hoping to succumb her to His will once more.

But of course, that was just a theory. A theory Haliki had not yet shared with anyone; especially since Tieria was feeling rather well in the past days.  
Nonetheless, as he quietly examined Tieria during that particular midnight, those thoughts crawled once more into his mind.

The light in the kitchen may have been dim, but it was clear that Tieria was pale, and she blinked slowly in a weary manner. And as she was drinking her fifth glass of water, she rested her back against the water-filled barrel.  
Her eyes began to narrow at the troll, expressing that his lingering was unsettling her. That gaze caused Haliki to snap back to reality and form a reassuring smile:

"Come, go back ta ya bed." Ordered the Zandalari warmly, waving towards the door. "I be casting a spell on ya ta put ta sleep."  
"You can do that?" Inquired Tieria in a tone of surprise mixed with skepticism. Haliki released a small chuckle and gave her a nod.  
"'Tis can be a… _Knotty_ spell, but be very effective!" Reassured the Zandalari.

Tieria did not seem to hesitate; she was not about to fight against her own body's needs. She needed to rest, and if there was a more effective way to achieve it, then the templar would swiftly make use of it.  
She searched for an empty pitch and filled it with water before leaving for her chamber alongside Haliki. And she had omitted to tell him the fact that these past days the templar had been sharing a bed with the black dragon; there was never a good time to profess the affair between her and Wrathion, but this was certainly not the correct time either.

As she walked towards her chamber, Tieria told herself that she will explain to Wrathion in the morning as to why he woke up alone.

* * *

"Welcome back." Was the first thing Tieria heard once she awakened. The templar immediately recognized Rokash's deep, but surprisingly pleasant voice. She groaned while blinking weakly, taking her time for her vision to sharpen and muscles to wake up.

When she finally lifted her torso, she saw Rokash sitting on a chair by the end of the bed; as before - he had another chair pulled before him so he could stretch his legs atop, and Farseer Lorga's journal was resting in his hands.

"You have been asleep for the past two days." Declared the young shaman. His statement caused Tieria's eyes to widen. The orc swiftly caught on the templar's bewildered expression and proceeded to explain: "Haliki used more of his druidic heals on you, more specifically to put you to sleep; he claimed two nights ago when he saw you, you were trembling and you had muscle pain. He attempted to ease your body's distress, but he did not anticipate that you would react in such a manner to his magic."  
"And since then I slept for two whole days?"

Rokash simply nodded in response. Tieria once again released a groan while running her fingers through her hair.  
"Do not scold yourself for sleeping for such length. It meant your body required it in order to recover." Comforted the young orc, but Tieria's reply was only a groan.  
"That… cannot be natural!" Sighed the templar, disturbed by her ill state.

"It happens more often than you think." Said Rokash, clicking his tongue between his teeth to clear away the remaining pieces of his breakfast. "It is highly likely that you have pushed yourself in the past days by walking back and forth with little rest in-between."  
"You cannot possibly expect of me to remain in bed for weeks." Complained Tieria, while stretching her arms followed by her neck.  
"I don't expect anything from you." Scoffed Rokash. "I am simply stating what should and should not be done, if you wish to fully recover."

Tieria pouted like a scolded child and remained silent; mainly because she had no valid arguments to assert. Every muscle of hers felt sore, and as she struggled to get out of bed, the templar could only ask herself how could this come to be. She was ready to pick up her sword again not so long ago.

"How is everyone?" Asked Tieria once she assumed to sit by the edge of the bed. Her heart began racing, as a lot could have happened in only two days, and she prayed that not _too much_ has occurred during her slumber.  
"Well the dragon came by often to check on your condition, so was that blonde dwarf and the Illidari... Wrathion was often in a foul mood, but we reassured him that you'll awaken any time now." Rokash spoke in a nonchalant manner, his eyes constantly peering at the pages of the journal.

"Mother said they are preparing for Pandaria." Continued the young shaman. "And some of the Horde soldiers which sheltered here, were dispatched to the north, to fortify the defenses. Naturally, many of them offered to go, to aid their own homeland."  
"Have there been more attacks?" After she posed her question, Tieria inhaled deeply and rose from the bed. She continued to stretch, in order to warm up her sore muscles.  
"Feralas suffered another attack, those who made it out alive escaped to Thunder Bluff. But the kaldorei journeyed to Nordrassil - their new home."

As she began putting on her black breeches and buttoning her tunic _(correctly aligned this time),_ Tieria noticed a new, clean set of bandages were wrapped around her chest.  
"I suppose I should thank you for this." Tieria said with a small smile. Rokash shrugged, posturing that this was not something he should receive gratitude for; it was his duty as a healer.

"I know you'll scold me for not resting, but I wish to see everyone." Declared Tieria while pinning her hair into a high ponytail.  
"You can see your friends, I believe they are in the training quarters, again." Asserted Rokash calmly. "You cannot see Wrathion however."  
"Why not?"  
"The Life-Binder has arrived."

* * *

The moment the Life-Binder was present in his chamber, Wrathion was unable to sit in one place. His feet carried him back and forth before the Dragon-Queen, who was sitting serene on the chair across from him.

She was in her elven form that many mortals had seen her in: bronze skin colour, golden eyes filled with warmth and wisdom, _(and in that particular moment - with sorrow too);_ fiery red, voluminous hair which cascaded on her shoulders.  
Her attire consisted of crimson and gold plate armor, another appearance she was more recognizable by; but she chose to cover the particular armor, alongside her exposed upper arms and stomach, with a cloak made out of white fur.

"I thought the other Aspects were supposed to arrive with you." Began the Black Prince, after a somewhat overextended silence between the two dragons.  
"In the end, I opted not to have them present here." Declared the Life-Binder in her melodic voice. She proceeded to cross her legs and rest her intertwined hands on her lap while leaning in the chair. Then with a hawk-like gaze she said: "I thought it was best that only the two of us would talk."

Wrathion inhaled sharply, he ran his fingers through his hair as he continued to walk in circles. Alexstrasza's presence brought nothing but nerves to him; and in his current state of mind, and the environment which surrounded him, this was the least thing he desired.

"I do not know what sort of… discussion you expect, Alexstrasza." The black dragon refused to gaze upon the Life-Binder as he spoke. "But let me be blunt and declare that I am in no mood to have lengthy debates and arguments regarding myself and my attitude; _but_ your arrival here is well-timed." He finally managed to have his feet stop the irritating pacing and stopped behind his chair. "I need you to aid us in restoring the Forge of Heart."

"You truly think I will let you command me after what you have caused?" Interrogated the Dragon Queen. She didn't raise her voice, it still remained serene as before, but it turned cold.  
"I am not commanding you anything." Replied Wrathion with confidence. "I am merely stating that you should uphold your duty as Azeroth's defender."  
"The time for the dragons to be Azeroth's keepers is gone, Wrathion. It ended after Neltharion was-"  
"Don't." Interrupted Wrathion darkly and then he paused to swallow. "Don't talk about Neltharion and his corruption. Don't talk about Deathwing and his cataclysm. Don't speak as if you have fulfilled your duty, and now you deserve a champion's rest."

Alexstrasza remained silent. She blinked slowly, her bronze eyes gleaming with a sorrow shine. Given her hardened expression, one would describe that the Life-Binder felt… Uncomfortable; offended even, by the Black Prince's words.  
The stillness in the room agitated Wrathion, hence to disrupt this discomfort, the dragon spoke:

"The world is in great peril, _Life-Binder._ Dragon Aspect or not, the world needs everyone to fight against N'zoth."  
"A fight you so confidently thought you could face by yourself." Replied Alexstrasza coldly; she still had a melancholic spark in her eyes, despite the icy words. Wrathion's jaw clenched in annoyance; no matter how much he prepared for this discussion, the Life-Binder's words still made his soul boil in anger.  
"How did this come to pass, Wrathion?" This time the dragon Queen's voice was softer. "How did the Deep One - who was barely breaking out from this prison not three moons past - now walk within our realm, bringing destruction and corruption to everything He touches?"

Wrathion bit his tongue whilst swallowing heavily. It was obvious the black dragon did not want to confess that it was _his_ plan to break down the veil between Azeroth and Ny'alotha, because _he_ failed to secure the portal to the Sleeping City that a cultist had conjured. And now suffering from defeat against N'zoth, was another failure that painted Wrathion in an ugly light.

Nonetheless, in his bitter mood - Wrathion believed that speaking about this to Alexstrasza, or anyone at that matter, was pointless; all that mattered now was planning the strategy moving forward - not speak of past mistakes.

"The Deep One has proven to be more cunning than foreseen." Declared Wrathion, he hoped his answer would suffice to Alexstrasza. But the Life-Binder's beautiful elven features were hardened as she stared emptily at him. Wrathion tore his gaze away from her, he glanced down and released a deep sigh, before continuing to speak: "And the mortals… the mortals proved to be weaker than I anticipated."

The dragon released another sigh, and moved to take a seat. He fell in his chair, his elbow rested on the armrest while he began rubbing his eyes. "They are fragile… and their _tenderness_... is contagious." As he breathed each of those words, the image of Tieria kept visualizing in his head. The templar laying in his arms, bleeding out black, corrupted blood.

Alexstrasza's frown turned into a gaze of compassion. For the first time the Life-Binder witnessed the Black Prince with such a broken expression. Wrathion was much like Neltharion, before the Earth-Warder succumbed to the nefarious corruption of the Old Gods. He was arrogant and proud, and believed his cause suppressed every other being. And he was hardly the one to display any manner of sentiments.

Something unusual must be stirring inside the young black dragon, for him to react to his own words in such remorse.

His choice of words made Alexstrasza ponder; dragons blaming mortal beings for the harm in the world was a common aspect. However, Wrathion's tone and choice of words indicated something differently… he wasn't blaming them; the dragon queen picked out that he felt… Empathy over them? Or even concern?

"Mortals are still children of Azeroth, as much as we are; and they are her defenders as well." Countered the Life-Binder softly.  
"They are." Agreed the Black Prince. "And in their own way they are fascinating; but I have come to realize that ultimately we cannot rely on them. It's in the hands of the dragons to defeat this foe."  
"Then why are you leading this campaign with them? Why is a kaldorei acting as your right hand? Why is an orc leading this army?" Alexstrasza continued to pose questions; wondering what caused the dragon to speak in such manner about mortal beings. "Are they truly your champions? Or are they simply expendable tools to you?"

Wrathion growled and rested his cheek against his hand. Emotions he did not desire to act on began surging through him. Ever since the defeat at Ny'alotha, he laid awake at night thinking over those changes and sentiments which have affected every choice he has recently compassed. Most of them were related to a particular templar.

Tieria brought out feelings he had never experienced before. Soft and warm sentiments which were buried deeply, and ones that the Black Prince believed he was never capable of experiencing. During the nights, he and Tieria shared sweet, intimate moments; early dawns filled with tender whispers and laughter; the feeling of _safety_ whenever she was around - all of these eased his soul in an inexplicable manner. But those tender moments, those nights filled with passion, as cherished as they might be to him - have weakened the dragon. And now he was paying the price for it.

The _world_ was paying the price for it.

"They _are_ my champions." Declared the dragon, no hesitation was sensed in his voice. "But ultimately, the fate of Azeroth falls to us; to the dragons."  
"So, you do not care for them?" Alexstrasza's question caused Wrathion to groan.  
"This has nothing to do with the plight upon the world, Alexstrasza!" He inhaled sharply and took a moment to recollect his thoughts from the whirlwind of irritation. "I want to save the world from the fiend that has plunged my kin into damnation, and might I remind you - is the same world that these mortals and _you_ , live in!"

She has struck a vein, is what Alexstrasza thought after Wrathion concluded his sentence. She laid back in the chair, silently contemplating the Black Prince. For a moment she glanced down at her lap, choosing her next words:

"The other dragons are concerned about you, Wrathion."  
"Concerned about me?" The black dragon repeated her words in a snort.  
"Concerned that you are about to take up a massive responsibility all by yourself, and be doomed to walk in the same steps as-"  
"You have _that_ little faith in me?" Interrupted Wrathion with a teasing smile, well aware how Alexstrasza intended on finishing her sentence. "If you were that concerned that I will become like Neltharion - you should have struck me down when I was a whelp." Replied the Black Prince darkly.

The red dragon took in a deep breath; this conversation did not go as intending and frankly, she was not surprised. She has forgotten the last time she had an amicable conversation with a black dragon. Even Nyxondra, Wrathion's mother, who was one of the most compassionate and humane out of her entire kin, was often a challenge to talk to.

"It should be no wonder to you, why I and other dragons were concerned about you dawning this crusade against the Old God. My worries diminished when I saw you in Northend, surrounded by mortals you put your trust in. I felt at ease since then; because I believed you have learnt from your past mistakes." Alexstrasza paused for a moment, to witness Wrathion's eyes flicker at the mention of his ' _mistake',_ which referred to the actions he had taken which resulted in bringing the Burning Legion unto Azeroth.  
"But now that you declare that you cannot rely on them, I fear that you will push everyone from you - and that solitude will be your calamity."

Wrathion held back from rolling his eyes. He did not know what sort of answer Alexstrasza expected from him; but whatever he would say the Life-Binder would most likely dismiss it. Deep down, the dragon perhaps understood why the dragon Queen voiced her concern, but he firmly believed this was not the right moment to discuss these matters.

"I made no such claims, Alexstrasza." Wrathion replied while slowly shaking his head. "I simply do not want to pay the price, because I placed _too_ much faith in mortals."  
"What is this dreadful price?" Inquired the Life-Binder softly, but Wrathion could not answer. Instead he chewed on his bottom lip, with his forehead puckered into a frown.

As if she could read off his face that the black dragon did not desire to give a reply, Alexstrasza switched to discuss another matter. Her words causing Wrathion's features to soften:  
"I will go to the Forge of Heart, and plead to the other Aspects to aid in empowering it with whatever Titan essence we have left in us." Declared the Life-Binder.  
After a long moment of silence, Wrathion spoke what he felt was the most fit answer, despite it being uncharacteristic of him:  
"Thank you, Life-Binder."

Alexstrasza's plum lips lifted into a warm smile, akin to a mother grinning proudly at the good deeds of her child. But Wrathion did not return that smile; he stretched in his seat before speaking again:  
"I will inform Speaker Magni to expect your arrival. Initially he intended on joining us here, but he desired to remain a while longer in Silithus."  
The Life-Binder nodded, attentively she listened to what Wrathion had to say:  
"The fact that N'zoth fears the Dark Titan's blade bought us time; he won't dare to attack Silithus and the Forge of Heart any time soon, but he _is_ forming a plan to assault it - of that I'm certain." The black dragon's eyes were directed on the map of Kalimdor which was laid before him, tapping his thumb lightly which covered the land of Silithus.

"Nonetheless, Speaker Magni saw fit that the druids and shamans who were in Silithus to be escorted to Thunder Bluff, Crossroads, and other large settlements in Kalimdor, that we believe N'zoth might attempt to attack first."  
"And what of the other continents?"  
"We warned everyone to take precaution; users of the holy Light, skilled mages and even warlocks who dabble in the void were stationed in every city and village, scouring for minions of the Black Empire who might mask among the crowd." As he paused, Wrathion released a heavy sigh. "But news has reached me that there is already commotion in Booty Bay, as many refugees were sent there and the town is already running out of resources."

"This is something out of your control." Comforted the Life-Binder, but Wrathion shook his head.  
"One way or another, they will blame me for it." Sighed the Black Prince. "And with Gadgetzan lost… Azeroth will go through a very weary winter."  
"What other settlements are currently in the most dire need of replenishments? Perhaps I can reach out to some allies for aid."  
"I'll make a list." Elaborated Wrathion, forcing himself to set aside his pride and his condemn, for the red dragons, so that denizens of Azeroth could have their suffering eased.

* * *

After two days of deep slumber, Tieria's legs ached for movement.

Hence, she once again wandered the halls of the Ebon Rest, whilst Wrathion was locked in the discussion with the Life-Binder. The templar checked up upon Caradin and Felassan, who had finally restored the training area in what it was meant to be - and began sparring with the Tol'vir, Iceborn and Horde warriors; to keep the waiting soldiers, who were itching to have their weapons drink the black blood of the Old God, somewhat active.

After reassuring Caradin and Felassan that she is well _(at least - at that particular moment),_ Tieria entered the chamber which the paladins of old used as an arsenal, but those in the Ebon Rest had altered it into an infirmary.  
There was one particular soul that the templar has not seen since the battle; and her own morals would not allow her to ignore him for too long anymore - albeit she was dreading that meeting.

Haltingly she walked through the multiple, rapidly-built wooden beds, and cheap bundles of furs and covers; gazing upon those seeking recovery in the chamber.  
Some of them were occupied by Tol'vir warriors, Horde soldiers or Iceborn dwarves, even Blacktalon agents who had been misfortunate on their missions. Shamans and druids of the Horde monitored the injured, with Haliki acting as the ' _leader'_ of the healing quarters.

Tieria abruptly stopped from walking, as a female silhouette stood in front of the paladin, blocking her way. She grunted as her feet suddenly glued themselves to the ground; her gaze turned into a glare of irritation.  
Justicar Julia Celeste stood before Tieria with a stoic expression. She wore a silver plate kilt and breastplate, with blue and purple cloth decorating it. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a loose bun; and her hands rested on her hips, as she gave Tieria a cold look.

The two templars, who in fact were never the ones to call one another ' _friends'_ , had a hostile relationship after Tieria's actions during the third Burning Legion invasion, which led to her exile from the Knights of the Silver Hand organization.  
And ever since a small group of paladins joined those in the Ebon Rest, Tieria has been avoiding them, but out of them all - she desperately attempted to avert Julia Celeste.

The Justicar never forgave Tieria for harming her brother - who was a simple paladin recruit, acting as a guard to Tirion Fordring's tomb. And Tieria's guilt over assaulting the young man, in order to retrieve Ashbringer for herself never faded away; especially since news reached her that the damage she caused to Julia's brother was greater than anticipated, resulting in him never able to wield a sword ever again.

Deep down, Tieria knew she made the correct choice to assault the tomb, which on the surface only aggravated her guilt. If only he would have allowed her to take the mighty paladin weapon - ll of it could have been avoided…

"I've heard you were back on your feet." Began Julia harshly.  
"You don't sound too thrilled." Observed Tieria, replying in the same annoyed tone as the Justicar. The templar wanted to release another remark at Julia's glare, but instead she released an exhausted sigh and spoke of the reason she was there: "Let me see Maxwell."

But Julia remained stone. She remained glaring at Tieria; most likely wondering to herself why Tieria was the lucky paladin to survive the horrific battle of Ny'alotha, instead of Maxwell; who at the moment was severely injured after this combat with the c'thraxxi, and Niall, who… All what was known about Niall is that he perished in battle, and his body was ultimately destroyed by the minions of the Black Empire.

"You aren't truly intending on blocking me from discussing with my friend, are you?" Inquired Tieria as she looked at Jullia's defensive posture and hardened expression.  
"I am not forbidding you anything; But Maxwell needs to receive all the rest he can get at this moment. _Your_ presence will disturb him."  
"Move aside, Julia. And let Maxwell himself decide if my presence will disturb him."

"Precisely, Julia." Came a male voice from behind the Justicar. Both women glanced upon Maxwell, who stood heavily bandaged and with a hunched back. He had to rely on a wooden stick as he haltingly approached them. "I appreciate the care, but you should not concern yourself to such extent." Continued the Silver Hand champion.

Julia's hazelnut-colored eyes roamed Maxwell, her glare was now directed at him instead of Tieria. She was displeased to find him up from bed, since the healers strictly ordered for the paladin to remain laying in comfort. Her jaw clenched as she became outnumbered, and arguing about such a silly matter was not in the Justicar's nature.  
She gave him a hesitant nod while grumbling " _Do as you wish."_ to Maxwell, and took her leave.

Once the Justicar left, Maxwell motioned with his head to Tieria to follow him to the end of the room, until they reached the bed he was using. With heavy grunts and slow movements, the Silver Hand knight climbed back on the modest mattress, and arranged himself comfortably, with his bandaged leg resting atop a pillow.

"Tieria!" Finally exclaimed the Silver Hand champion once he adjusted himself on the bed. His only functional eye was set on the templar, who gave him a small smile.  
Tieria took the liberty to sit down by the edge of Maxwell's bed. Her brown eyes analyzed his bandaged neck and left leg, perhaps his torso was bandaged but it was concealed by the linen blue tunic the paladin wore. He looked as restless as her; and he also seemed distressed. Most likely, the paladin was agitated at the fact that all he had to do is simply lay in bed helplessly, while his comrades were fighting world-changing battles.

As she gazed upon Maxwell, the templar found herself at loss for words. She may have little memories of what occurred during the battle of Ny'alotha, but she certainly remembers Niall; Maxwell's young recruit, who fell into a sheer panic, resulting in him losing control of the battle and her jumping to his defense; the aftermath is nothing but a hazy memory to the templar.

Wrathion informed her that his Blacktalon failed to locate Niall's body - and with utter regret, the young recruit was declared dead among the Tol'vir, Horde and Iceborn warriors and some Blacktalon agents, who had perished at the hands of the Black Empire.

Words could not describe the guilt and sorrow Tieria felt; and she knew that Maxwell was enduring that pain as well. Losing comrades, war-companions was never easy. But Niall's case affected her more because he was so young, too young to even fight in that battle, alas his youthful soul demanded it.  
Niall had barely ascended as a Silver Hand knight, and instead of acting as a beacon of hope and justice, he had perished at the hands of the most twisted manifestation in the cosmos.

"Are you alright?" Maxwell's question caused Tieria to snap to reality. "You seem… _hollow_." She blinked at the knight before answering.  
"Oh, I have just been in heavy recovery from battle, much like you." Tieria sighed, glancing down at her hands resting in her lap. "The healers claim that my body and mind are in a state of post-combat shock."  
"Then you must rest, not wander around." Scolded Maxwell lightly, which resulted in Tieria releasing a soft chuckle.

"How much do you remember of the battle?" Asked Tieria, wondering if Maxwell was suffering from the same condition as her. Maxwell took a moment to recollect his thoughts whilst scratching his ginger beard.  
"I remember the Sleeping City materializing in the sky. The violet dragon attempted to attack us. Then we encountered one of the Old God's generals; a female human, who could not be reasoned with. Then, I became severely injured after battling a C'thraxxi she had summoned." The paladin paused, tugging his hand over to the right side of the stomach where the heavy wound lied. "Next thing I remember I was taken by the Zandalari to a healing camp; and in a matter of hours, the earth began to tremble and I witnessed the black dragon flying away from Ny'alotha, roaring for the retreat… Everyone was escorted from the desert as the Black army extended their march."

"It sounds like you remember almost everything we have gone through." Tieria surmised to which Maxwell replied with a light shrug. The scene of N'zoth forces marching onto Uldum as Maxwell described brought a shiver down her spine.  
"It was a heavy battle… and I'm afraid the next one will be much worse."

Tieria found herself nodding along to Maxwell's words, goosebumps forming on her skin out of the fearful thought of the Deep One conquering every land on Azeroth. Even _thinking_ of N'zoth for a brief second, caused the templar's blood to run cold. She has never experienced such a dreadful feeling, not even when she fought the Scourge with the Lich King himself standing in the frontlones.

"Hope is not lost, you know." Said Tieria once she took notice of Maxwell's somber expression. She gave him a small, reassuring smile as she continued: "Wrathion has a new plan set in motion."  
"Something regarding Pandaria. I've overheard the Farseer mentioning it to the Zandalari druid." Confessed Maxwell. He slowly readjusted himself in his position; light hisses escaped his lips as the movement agitated his wounds. "Either way," He continued in a sigh. "I hope it will succeed, and I hope I'll get out of these bindings soon. Laying in this manner for days is driving me to insanity."  
A small chuckle left Tieria, she understood Maxwell's words almost too well.  
"You and me both." Giggled the templar dryly.

Afterwards a silence fell between the two paladins; both of them felt uncertain how one could continue the conversation in such a situation. Talking about the state of the world only added salt to their barely-recovering wounds, and would affect the state of their minds; however, talking about an unrelated topic would feel inappropriate, especially in an infirmary surrounded by souls who have either lost their loved ones, home or even hope.

But eventually, Maxwell broke the silence:  
"Can I ask you for a favor?" Tieria nodded, despite unknowing if she could complete the Silver Hand champion's favor. "Is there any possibility that you can acquire some parchment and quill for me ? I have been stretching it out for a while now… But I need to write a letter to Niall's older sister, and inform her of his death."

* * *

Once they concluded their meeting, which stretched until afternoon, Wrathion walked with Alexstrasza to the surface. There, they were greeted by Cyssa Dawnrose, the Blood Knight who was an ally of the Silver Hand paladins and currently served as the guard to the Ebon Rest's entrance.

The blood elf seemed to have made herself comfortable at the end of the roof. A warm fur cloak was wrapped around her body, its hood covering her silver head.  
She brought a pillow from the sanctuary, as well as a book. And the sin'dorei was calmly enjoying her solitude with the written scripture and fruits for a snack.

A second soul was also present at the top of the ruined tower, someone unexpected but who caused Wrathion's heart to skip a beat: Tieria.

The templar seemed to be enjoying 'fresh' air _(albeit one could not really describe the air in the swamp which was Dustwallow Marsh as 'fresh')_ and the activity of smoking out of a pipe. She had a large grin displayed on her pale-pink lips upon seeing Wrathion, and she greeted Alexstrasza with a humble nod; but she did not dare to approach the dragons; she watched from the upper floor as Wrathion and Alexstrasza wished each other farewell.

Wrathion's tense mood lightened at the sight of Tieria, as the dragon was relieved to see her awakened after two days of constant slumber, and as he briefly gazed at her, he presumed that her health state must have improved.  
But that tranquil feeling vanished away like a tender leaf blown by an unforgiving wind, once his eyes set upon the horizon. Silhouettes of obelisks and large temples of the Black Empire shadowed in the distance. Covering the serene skies of Azeroth with a sinister and dark aura.

The black dragon forced himself to tear his gaze away, and attempted to ignore that horrific view; instead, he directed his attention to the Life-Binder who began to speak:

"I shall send word once I arrive in Silithus." Declared the Dragon-Queen; she too, averted her gaze from the horrific horizon. She smiled again at Wrathion; the fact that Alexstrasza's natural dragon form was larger than Wrathion's, caused her mortal figure to appear taller than the half-elven black dragon; hence, her head was tilted down as she glanced at the Black Prince.

Wrathion nodded at the Life-Binder. Then, the dragon was taken aback as Alexstrasza gently rested her hand on his shoulder; with her golden-gleaming eyes locked into his', she spoke in a whisper:  
"I see there is something tormenting you, something aside from the dark corruption. Whatever it is - don't ignore it; search within yourself for a solution. Because a despondent soul is only the beginning to what Neltharion went through."

Wrathion did not respond, nor did Alexstrasza anticipate it from him. She took a couple of steps behind, ensuring there is enough space between her and the Black Prince. Then she again glanced at Tieria and Cyssa who were on the upper floor of the broken tower, and bid both mortals a modest farewell with a bow of her head.  
Another warm smile of the Dragon Queen was directed at Wrathion, before she assumed her natural dragon form.

A breeze made its presence as Alexstrasza's entire figure gleamed in a bright light, followed by red wisps. The shape of her silhouette began altering whilst increasing its size, materializing into the form of a large dragon.  
Gradually, the light began to dim and the wisps were absorbed into her, creating her fiery red scales. Grand wings surged out of her back, and the dragon did not wait to flutter them strenuously, producing a dusty wind before Wrathion and the two souls from the top of the tower.

Once the Life-Binder was in her mighty dragon form, she opened her eyes and raised her head up in the sky. Exhaling in comfort at being in her natural appearance.  
Alexstrasza nudged her head at Wrathion as she bid him farewell, then with the power of her wings, the Dragon Queen took to the skies, flying south-west towards Silithus.

Wrathion watched until the Life-Binder's silhouette disappeared in the sky, then he turned to gaze upon Tieria, who also had her attention directed at the red dragon.  
"You should be wary of being outside." Wrathion began while walking towards the broken stairs of the tower. "The skies are not safe." The paladin smiled as she watched the Black Prince approach her. He rested by her side, his gaze fixated at the templar instead of the horrific horizon, which he was actively ignoring. Cyssa stood further from them, sitting in the corner and paying no mind to the two beings.

Tieria greeted Wrathion with a smile, but she could not resist from reaching out to draw him in for a short embrace. She wrapped her free arm around his neck, while keeping the other one slightly away, as not to have the lit pipe too close to the dragon. She felt a light resistance coming from Wrathion's part; perhaps because he did not anticipate the embrace.

"How did it go with the Life-Binder?" Inquired Tieria while pulling away; the short farewell she had just witnessed pointed at a positive response, but she desired to hear it from the Black Prince.  
"We have reached a solution." Declared Wrathion as he sighed in relief. "And we believe that with the Life-Binder and the other dragons' essence, we might be able to restore the Forge of Heart."  
"But that won't be enough, won't it?" Replied the templar as she detected hesitation in Wrathion's words. The black dragon stood silent for a moment, then he slowly shook his head. It prompted Tieria to continue: "So, the expedition to Pandaria still stands?"  
"It does." Nodded the Black Prince. "And it will dawn in two days."

Tieria found herself remaining silent, while taking in a long breath out of her pipe. She contemplated at the fact that her health state might halt her from joining the expedition; she'd be dead weight - and that was a fact everyone was aware of. However, the templar wondered if Wrathion would admit it, and how would the dragon react if the templar would insist on joining.

But she didn't dare to ask - for she was too afraid to hear the answer.

"You have been asleep for two entire days, how is your state?" Wrathion took the turn to pose questions. He had a small, teasing grin on his lips, but his crimson eyes gleamed with concern.  
"Better, at least for now." Breathed out Tieria while simultaneously blowing out herb-scented smoke. "I don't understand what came over me two nights ago."  
"Rokash claimed that it is anticipated behavior, no?" Tieria gave the dragon an uncertain shrug before replying:

"With all my respect to Rokash, he _is_ fairly young… He mentioned that the first time he healed on a battlefield, was during the siege of Orgrimmar against Garrosh Hellscream took place; by that time, I was already an esteemed veteran of the Silver Hand order. How much can an orc, who has barely reached adulthood, know of illnesses and healing?"  
"Fair enough." Chuckled Wrathion. "But I don't think we should underestimate Farseer Lorga's offspring."  
"True." Tieria reiterated dryly before inhaling out of her pipe once more.

In the end, Tieria felt unable to finish her smoke; primarily because the sight of the Black Empire on the horizon sickened her, and she desired to retreat into the safe walls of the Ebon Rest. Besides, much like Wrathion claimed - the skies were _not_ safe. N'zoth may be slowly pushing his army, but he certainly sent spies to every corner of Azeroth.

Hence, the templar began tossing out the herbs from her pipe, albeit there were plenty of them to still be smoked. And as she cleaned her pipe, Tieria addressed Wrathion:  
"What else did you assign yourself to do for the remaining day?"  
"Pick out my Blacktalon who will scout ahead and scour the territories in Pandaria before joining me in the expedition. I wish to assign my best agents on this matter, hence I need to write some letters. Certain Blacktalon are assigned on missions beyond central-Kalimdor."  
"I can aid you with that." Declared Tieria determined; Wrathion's grin grew bigger as he glanced upon Tieria putting on a brave face; despite visibly seeing the tiredness in her eyes.

Either way, the dragon made no remark on that matter. He hardly believed scribbling would affect the templar's well-being.  
"Let us return inside, this atmosphere isn't doing good to anyone." Said the black dragon softly, Tieria immediately nodded at his words.

Tieria signaled the Blood Knight paladin to remain at her post, given that Tieria could open the Light-sealed entrance herself. Together with Wrathion, they climbed down the broken stairs of the partially collapsed scout tower, and stopped before the particular block of the floor which had the Silver Knight emblem sculpted on it.  
The templar knelt before the platform, while the dragon watched as she shut her eyes and reached out to gently press her palm atop the platform. A soft breeze made its presence as Tieria began lamenting holy words from the Tome of Divinity.

_"To strive to be divine for one of our kind, does not mean we strive for godhood."_

Tieria's heart skipped a beat upon not sensing the warm aura, which would encase her body whenever she summoned the Light. Instead, she felt hollow. Suddenly the sensation of weakness filled the templar, but she forced herself to push it back.

As she inhaled a deep breath, Tieria concentrated on giving another attempt. Her fingers tensed, her nails plunged into the old stone. She called to the Light. Wishing. Begging. Commanding for it to radiate her with Its presence. Her arm began to tremble, given that she directed her entire force into her palm.  
But it seemed no entity heard the paladin.

She opened her palm and gazed upon it; as if she could read an explanation off her own skin. She began analyzing her weak state ever since she woke up after the battle. The sense of fatigue, the lack of strength, the constant cold. Amidst those thoughts, the templar also recalled how earlier today, Maxwell mentioned that the paladin felt _hollow.._. perhaps that choice of word had more to it than a mere description of her appearance.

Tieria shut her eyes and prayed again, while trying to channel the smallest spark of Light she could. She begged that her own assumption was wrong while staring upon her palm, hoping to witness them shine in the warm, silver Light.

But nothing.

"Tieria?" Her ears twitched slightly at the dragon breathing out her name. He was obviously puzzled, as to why it took the paladin so long to open the entrance. He took a step closer, his brows suddenly snapped into a frown as he witnessed Tieria's distraught face. But the templar was silent. Mutely, she continued to stare at her palm; knots forming in her stomach as she was dreading that one thought.

" _One more try."_ Tieria told herself. Then once again she pressed her palm against the stone fist; she concentrated on feeling the Light surge within her, calling for Its grace to reveal Itself. The breeze intensified, and it caused goosebumps to form on her skin; she shivered.

Her lower lip began to tremble; time was passing by and nothing, not even the faintest Light shone upon Tieria. She felt as if she was withering, due to the dark thoughts which assailed her mind and heart.  
Tieria lowered her head, she was unwilling to fight back the weak feeling. She let out a long, trembling breath. She spoke to Wrathion, but refused to look at him. Her eyes remained to stare in disbelief at the mark of the Silver Hand:

"I-I can't… I can't summon the Light..."


	5. Detachment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory announcement that the next updates might be delayed.  
> I have been going under difficult health issues, and sadly, I also suffer a bit of a burn out from Warcraft franchise. 
> 
> I will do my best to avoid a hiatus, because I love this story and writing. Nonetheless, I hope you dear readers will be understanding regarding the halting updates. ♥
> 
> You can also read this chapter on Fanfiction.net!

Eleina let out a shivering, long breath. Her cheeks flushed bright red as a result of the crispy cold winter air; and her curly locks were losing their volume due to the chilled weather as well. But she paid no mind to her appearance at that moment.

Instead, her chestnut-colored eyes were fixated on the mass of refugees who were hailing from Southern Kalimdor, and overcrowding the town of Hearthglen.

Most of them were goblins, fleeing from the renowned city Gadgetzan; but through the swarm, the Goldshire-originated lass noticed some kaldorei, gnomes, trolls, humans and finally an ancient, mysterious race named the Tol'vir.  
All of the arrivals carried indescribably large amounts of sacks, satchels, or backpacks, which were filled with resources or personal belongings they packed in a hurry, as they fled from the grasp of the Deep One and his army.

Many of the refugees were prepared for the winter: they wore attires which sheltered them from the soft, yet cold snowflakes. Those who weren't, were offered some blankets and fur covers by the Argent Crusade soldiers. Specifically, they were lent to the Tol'vir, since the feline creatures were not accustomed to such unforgiving cold weather, and were suffering the most because of the lack of warm climate.

"Hey, lady!" Came a male squeaky voice from Eleina's side. The high-pitched tone made her instantly recognize that it belonged to a goblin, hence she glanced down. She watched as a dark green goblin, wearing a wool hat and a dark blue cloak wrapped around him, approached her. "Where can we find the food here?" Inquired the goblin in a commanding tone.  
"There are four taverns here. Because of the amount of people - we have organized schedules when it is being served; so, our cooks could have enough time to prepare for everyone." The goblin opened his mouth to speak, by some means Eleina knew his following words, hence she delivered an answer before he could speak: "It will be provided in the next hour."

Satisfied with the answer he received, the goblin gave a nod to Eleina and walked away from her, returning to the small group of goblins which were standing grouped together by the wall close to the gate.  
Eleina was allowed only a short moment to breathe by herself, before another individual came to address her:  
"This is insanity!" Grunted Dale Conall, who was in fact the mayor of the town that was Hearthglen. "These people got no business here! They only consume our winter supplies!"

He was a short man, but very burly; short sand-brown and with a rich mustache. A scar cut his lower lip in half, a scar he has gotten during his service in the Second War. It was very visible that his attire, which consisted of a silver fox-furred coat, black leather gloves, woolen grey breeches and black boots, was of high quality.

After the loss of Tirion Fordring, no paladin or warrior dared to fill in his position as the commander of Hearthglen. Hence, the people of this town had elected Dale to be the mayor, as he was a well-known businessman and merchant during the days of Lordaeron; and the man was quite rich too. Thus, it was believed he had what it takes to run a town.

But his personality wasn't the sweetest due to his little patience, nor was he the wisest. He was often arguing with the Argent Crusade veterans, who were an authority in Hearthglen as much as him. Mostly because the man was obsessed with trying to make a coin out of every aspect; such as raising prices at the inn or by establishing ludicrous taxes.  
Personally, Tieria and Eleina, weren't too fond of the man; but he has kept their town safe and prosperous since the loss of the Highlord; hence they avoided to complain.

"These people lost their homes to one of the greatest threats in our world!" Scolded Eleina. This was the third and the last wave of refugees which were expected to arrive in Hearthglen. And ever since their presence, Dale would not stop complaining. "They need help, which we will happily grant them!"  
"Do we now?" Replied the mayor bitterly. "I don't remember signing any treaty; what would I get in return?!"

Eleina found herself taking a step back, her eyes opened widely as she stared at the mayor in disbelief. She could understand his dislike of the situation, but to make such a heartless statement felt like an arrow piercing her chest.  
Hearthglen, and the Argent Crusade who served it, was always humble in aiding those in need. Any poor soul who tried to escape from the war between the Horde & Alliance, the impairment of the Cataclysm, or the foul blades of the Legion - were welcomed here with open arms.

The silhouette of a tall man approaching Eleina and Dale, caused the stablemaster to blink bewildered. He carried a large crate filled with various supplies.  
"Where do I take this?" Inquired the man, completely ignoring Eleina's presence as his gaze was fixated upon the mayor.  
"To the basement entrance behind the keep." He replied while nudging his head at the old fortress.

"W-what is it?" Eleina asked in a haste breath.  
"Precautions." Dale answered in a grunt, while tightening on his gloves. "I am not about to starve myself during this winter, because of some dumbbells who got their homes sacked by insects."  
"So, you are going to lock yourself in a basement with stolen goods, until all this is over?" Eleina's forehead creased like a crumpled piece of paper, frustrated at Dale's actions.

"It's called survivin'; you'd think with all your knowledge about animals - you'd know about _that_." Spat Dale; the man clearly saw no foul in his decision.  
"If you do this now, you will never be able to step a foot back in Hearthglen." Surmised the stablemaster coldly; but her threat was greeted by a scoff.  
"Yeah, right. You people would have not lived so many moons without _my_ gold."

With a roll of his eyes, Dale took off after the man who carried the crate of goods. Eleina was ready to charge and tackle that bribed guard, but a strong hand, covered in plate armor interrupted her.

"Fighting one another will only aggravate the situation, Eleina." Radley soothed the stablemaster with her motherly voice.  
"You want for us to openly let everyone steal as much as they want?" Argued back Eleina with the elderly paladin.  
"No, we position guards in our stock rooms, as well as kitchens. We should also find a different approach to ration our supplies. But we certainly do not chase after a mayor, who clearly has no intentions of preserving this town anymore."

Eleina chewed on her bottom lip as she gave a nod in defeat. Radley was one of the oldest and the widest members of the Argent Crusade; the shieldmaiden has been in service for this order since its dawn. People rarely dared to go against her word, because she has never given ill-advises or biased opinions.  
Noticing Eleina's features softening, and her eyes no longer glaring into Dale's direction, Radley gestured her arm towards a particular Tol'vir. She motioned for him to approach them, and the black-furred creature immediately obeyed her.

"This is Abasi, a blacksmith from the city of Ramkahen." Began the elder paladin. "By being one of the eldest among his people - they look up to him. Thus, we shall include him in our future gatherings."

Abasi greeted Eleina with a bow of his head. Albeit Radley declared he was an older Tol'vir, one could not tell by his features. There were no wrinkles on his furred face, no trembling aged-bones or halting movements. His body was well-toned, and his hardened features indicated dignity and certainty; the only unfavorable detail Eleina noticed was the discomfort in his cat-eyes; and the stablemaster theorized it was because of the snow resting on his bare head and shoulders.

"My people are grateful for your help. And we will return the aid in these desperate times as much as we can. But I fear this climate will be our doom." Began Abasi in a deep voice, causing a shiver through Eleina's spine.  
"I will ensure that there is room for everyone; and I won't have your people be outside unless it is strictly necessary." Promised Eleina in a well-mannered tone. "But we need to prioritize the children, elders and pregnant women."

"We do not have children with us. Nor is anyone carrying a child because it is not the mating season." Explained the Tol'vir blacksmith.  
"Very well, then Abasi, you and your family may stay in my home. I can spare the first floor, and Caradin's workshop in the basement; however, I fear that his workshop is as cold as outside."  
"I was thinking Eleina." Began Radley to address one of the main reasons she truly approached Eleina. "With Tieria being absent, we could make use of her chamber. It's fairly large, hence we could have a larger family shelter in there."

Eleina nodded at the efficient idea, wondering why it didn't cross her mind before. She was good friends with Tieria, and she knew her well enough to know that the paladin would not be against Radley's proposition.  
Unlike Eleina and Caradin, Tieria did not own a house. When Hearthglen became the town it was today, she and her father took one of the largest quarters within the keep.

It included one small bedroom, another one which was larger and also served as a study, and a private bathroom. And the food was always prepared by the servants of the keep. It was very common for most Argent Crusade soldiers, especially those without a family, to reside in one of the chambers within the keep.

Even Highlord Tirion himself retained his quarters there, alongside his son.

"I have the spare key to her chamber." Eleina hugged herself as spoke, trying to stay warm by rubbing her hands against her arms in a rapid motion. "Let me do a checkup first, see if there are any of her personal assets I should store in my house."  
Eleina did not want to believe these refugees would profit upon the kindness of Hearthglen, but being precarious could not hurt; especially around so many _goblins_ …

Radley gave her a nod, and so did the humble Tol'vir blacksmith, whose feline eyes shone with gratitude towards the two women. Without spending another second in the snow, the stablemaster marched back to her house to take the key to Tieria's chamber.

* * *

"Tieria!" The Black Prince's voice echoed within the main hall of the Ebon Rest, alas his call fell upon deaf ears; Tieria simply marched ahead of him with hastened steps. She rushed towards her chamber, her breathing was quickening with each passing minute, and the sound of her own heartbeat was the only echo she heard.

The door to Tieria's quarters was pushed open with force by the templar. And she entered inside with heavy steps. Her eyes searched everywhere, refusing to blink until she would locate a particular tome. In that time, Wrathion caught up to her and stood behind Tieria while she scoured her own chamber.  
An exhale of relief escaped Tieria's lips once her eyes set on the tome resting by the small desk, a portion of it was covered by one of her tunics.  
Rapidly, she grabbed the tome from the desk whilst sitting on the bed. Without taking one second to pause, Tieria opened the holy book.

"Why can't I-" Tieria mumbled to herself, upon noticing that the inscriptions from the holy pages were unreadable to her. She agitatedly and rapidly flipped through the libram, hoping to detect a sentence, at least _one_ _word_ , she could read from the paladin tome.

Every phrase which was written in Light-infused ink was foreign to her. Tieria felt her heart sinking. She closed the libram, and kept her palm upon its cover. That radiating, warm feeling which the holy tome would emit, had perished as well. She could not sense the Light within it. She could not sense anything.  
The templar - if she could even be called that at that point - gazed at her empty palm, then upon the holy libram which now was nothing but a foreign tome to her.

"The Light left me..." Tieria exhaled in disbelief.

Tears streamed down her cheeks but she paid them no mind. She lifted her teary gaze at Wrathion. His lips were firmly pressed against one another, once she breathed that sentence. He moved towards Tieria and got on one knee before her.

"How is that possible?" She inquired in a sob, but the dragon remained silent. He might have had a theory, a possible explanation for this, but some invisible force was holding the dragon back from speaking about it to Tieria.  
Tieria suddenly became as pale as she was the first time she had awakened after the Ny'alotha battle; Wrathion loathed seeing her in such a state, it made him more distressed than he already was, despite his attempt to conceal those emotions with a hardened expression.

During the time that she and Wrathion were silent, the templar tried to regulate her breathing and cease from tearing up. Oddly enough, despite the stillness in the room, neither of them heard footsteps entering Tieria's chamber.

"Wrathion." Came a female voice from behind, which belonged to Farseer Lorga. She seemed to be searching for Wrathion for quite a while, eventually prompting her to even look for him in Tieria's chamber.

She stopped from calling for the dragon once she spotted his dark head a couple of steps before her, and prepared to address him. But upon witnessing Tieria's crying face, the orc stepped fully into the room, staring puzzled at her and Wrathion.

"Is the pain aggravating? Should I call for Rokash?" Guessed the shaman as she analyzed Tieria; but her question was answered with the templar shaking her head.

Wrathion lifted his gaze to Tieria, the particular look in his eyes mimicked as if the dragon was wishing for Tieria's approval to tell Lorga the truth behind her tears. She blinked at him, while trying to keep her sobbing as quietly as possible.

"Tieria is unable to summon the Light." Explained Wrathion to the Farseer, but his gaze remained towards the templar. Although Lorga was behind him, he could sense that her silence was brought by a state of shock.  
Lorga stepped deeper into the chamber, her eyes peering at Tieria while she closed the door behind her.

The Black Prince turned to witness the orc approaching them, her expression was blank, and she had her arms crossed. For a long moment, filled with nothing but restive stillness and quiet sobs of a heartbroken templar, Lorga sized up Tieria. The orc was evaluating Wrathion's words, while the dragon himself simply remained knelt before Tieria, unable to give her any form of comfort aside from holding her hand.

"Now it makes sense how you survived your wound." Lorga broke the silence, her statement was filled with certainty. "The Light and the Void are opposites; existing only to erase one another."  
"You think-" Wrathion rose, standing on the same eye level as the Farseer. Her choice of words awakened something in the dragon's mind, initiating him to ponder on everything he knew of the Light and Void. He couldn't even begin to express his thoughts, as Lorga continued with her assumption:  
"The Light within her eradicated the Void from the piercing-blade; they both cancelled each other out."

Tieria's eyes widened at what she had just heard, and she drew in a sharp breath. She wiped away her tears, the fact they spoke of her state as if she was not present before them, miffed the templar.

"B-but… There are priests who can balance the power of the Light and Void." Argued Tieria, finally participating in the conversation about her.  
"The priests you speak of simply dabble in only but a fragment of those energies; and often, even they have to be wary of the amount of both Light and Void they use. You, however, had raw void essence inserted into you."  
'It could be that the Light and Void annulled one another;" Intervened Wrathion. "But it is known that these forces have a consciousness; thus, there is a possibility that the Light within you sacrificed itself to… Cleanse you from the corruption."

"Ultimately, all of these are nothing but theories - and I do not believe that there are methods which would allow us to learn the truth." Concluded Lorga, afterwards she set her jaw in a hard line and watched the templar blinking wearily.  
"I-I refuse to believe this. All of it." Declared Tieria whilst lifting herself from the bed and beginning to pace around. "I cannot simply _lose_ the Light, I'm a _paladin_!"

Her trembling hands whitened as she tightened her fists, her nails piercing the skin of her palms deeply enough to cut it open. She tried to put on a brave, enraged face, rather than displaying her sorrow.

"Perhaps… It has not completely vanished?" The Farseer theorized hesitantly. "But it is in a mere slumber? Perhaps it will resurface, once you will fully heal?"  
Tieria pondered for a short moment, before giving a hesitant shrug.  
"The fact that I feel drained away from my own essence - whispers to my heart that it is truly gone..."

 _"She feels… Empty. As if, a piece of her soul was absorbed by a warlock."_ Wrathion recalled Anduin's words after he attempted to heal Tieria. The young king sensed that the templar was deprived of a part of her, he simply failed to untangle what it was - _the Light_. The power which ascended her as a holy knight.

The Black Prince inhaled sharply; one should not be surprised that using the Blade of the Black Empire on a mortal would have great consequences, but not even he could anticipate a consequence of such scale.  
Bitterness washed over him, as he glanced upon Tieria. She was experiencing a calamity; trapped between a state of denying and accepting this stinging reality. Even Wrathion could not fully comprehend it.

"Leave me… Both of you." Tieria pleaded softly.  
"Tia-"  
"Don't say anything. Wrathion" The templar shook her head. "I just… I need to be by myself; to soak in everything."

The dragon - and even the Farseer - hesitated at first. It's not as if there was much the two of them could do to aid the templar in her current state, but her uncontrollable shaking and hyperventilating made them think that they should at least call for Rokash or Haliki.

"I'll be fine." Reassured Tieria once she noticed the hesitation coming from Lorga and Wrathion.  
"I'll have Rokash come by later." The Farseer declared firmly, Tieria gave a sigh and nodded. Afterwards, the orc took her leave; Wrathion, despite still being hesitant, was about to follow her.

"Wrathion…" Tieria called for the dragon softly. He turned to find her extending a hand towards him. Wrathion took a couple of steps back, to stand closer to Tieria. His crimson eyes were locked in hers; distress was clearly visible on his dapper features.

The templar's hand found its way to rest upon his cheek, as her lips curled into a small but forced smile. She leaned in, and pulled Wrathion close for a short kiss in reassurance.  
He savored every bit of the kiss, despite his heart sinking in hardship as he tasted Tieria's soft lips. He still felt her tears from her wet cheeks, and the tips of her fingers trembled lightly against his own cheek.

Once they pulled away, Wrathion felt uncertain what to say. The dragon instead caressed her scarred cheek, while giving her a smile, which perhaps was just as false as hers. He watched as Tieria leaned into his touch, before he retrieved it. There was nothing he could say, which would elevate this plight. And if he said what he _truly_ had in mind… It would only aggravate her.

Thus, Wrathion obeyed Tieria's wish, and left her to be in her Lightless solitude.

* * *

Eleina was greeted by a cloud of dust upon entering Tieria's room. It was already more than a month since the room has been occupied, thus the stablemaster of Hearthglen was not surprised to be ringed by so much dust; however, having to cough it out was certainly unpleasant.

Whist surveying Tieria's chamber, she felt something soft brush against her lower leg. Eleina looked down and found Jenafur - Tieria's adopted cat - had followed her to the keep.

Not a single stroke of bewilderment washed over Eleina upon finding the cat here. Jenafur had little to no fear, and behaved as if he was the owner of Hearthglen; he entered wherever he damned pleased, ate what he desired and toppled whatever he liked.  
The cat probably jumped out of the window from her house, and marched inside the keep despite the harsh winds and cold snow meeting him on his path. His feline curiosity eager to witness the stablemaster's activities.

"You miss this place, don't you?" Giggled Eleina, watching Jenafur assuredly entering the room, with his tail lifted high in the air as he took towards the left side of the templar's quarters. He jumped on the large armchair which rested besides the unlit fireplace, and curled up in the seat, preparing himself for a nap.

"Right!" Exclaimed Eleina whilst closing the door behind her. "You were always obsessed with that armchair." She approached the feline and reached out to pet Jenafur's head. "How about we also take this armchair to my place? That way you will have your precious possession with you."

Obviously, the small beast did not reply. He shut his green eyes, enjoying Eleina's caress. But soon enough, she had to resume to her duty, leaving the cat to rest in the armchair on his own.  
She walked away from the chair, and dragged the wooden crate she brought with her, in the middle of the chamber. Swiftly, she began wandering around her templar friend's chamber, scouring out personal objects she thought would be necessary to be kept safe from strangers' hands.

One of the most obvious choices was Tieria's jewelry box, which rested on one of the desks against the wall next to her bed. It was a beautiful, black bronze container, with various flower and leaves engraves decorating its body and lid. It was obviously locked, and Eleina did not know where its key was. Nonetheless, she took the jewelry box and carefully placed it in the crate.

Eleina collected more of Tieria's possessions; such as her medals for serving in the Scourge war, a beautiful shield with the Lordaeon symbol carved into it, which was resting above the fireplace; even some of the dresses and clothes which Eleina knew were of a high value to Tieria. _(such as a particular gown, which had the design akin to the robes of the Highborne. It was made from the material rumored to originate from Eldre'thalas - and it cost the templar a fortune to get her hands on it.)_

It wasn't too long until the wooden crate was filled, and Eleina did one final sweep around the quarters before returning to her home. She even checked under the bed, and was surprised to find an opened chest, the size of a stew pot. It seemed to be filled with envelopes and scrolls.

The sheer amount of dust and spider webs indicated that the chest had lain there for a long time, even before Tieria's departure.  
Uncertain what to make out of what she saw, Eleina pulled the chest out from under the bed, to be able to examine it in the light. The chest was indeed filled with old correspondences, very old in fact. Some of the envelopes had the ink smeared, tea or other beverage stains were seen on some letters or scrolls, some of them had even pieces ripped off.

And due to the number of letters and parchments inserted in the small chest, its lid could not be closed. Eleina paid no mind to the contents of any of the letters. She would never invade Tieria's privacy - or anyone's for that matter.  
Nonetheless, she has decided that this chest should also be kept away from unknown guests.

Carefully, Eleina guided herself whilst carrying the overfilled chest towards the crate; naturally, a couple of envelopes and scrolls fell down due to the movement. Some scrolls opened, and some letters fell out of their envelope upon their impact with the floor.

The sound which the paper made upon its impact with the wooden floor, caused Jenafur to lift his head, and attentively listen and gaze upon Eleina, who now was arranging the chest nicely in the box.  
Immediately after the chest rested in the crate; the grunts of the stablemaster echoed in Tieria's chamber, as Eleina bent down to pick up the letters which dropped out of the chest.

She resealed everything as best and quick as she could, without giving them a read.  
However, her eyes could not help but notice a particular penmanship which was written on one of the envelopes. Eleina briefly gazed at the scroll in her other hand, then gazed upon two more opened letters which were on the floor - all of them had the same penmanship.

Which was not Tieria's writing.

Despite the little interaction they had, Eleina recognized that the writer behind these letters was Riordan Adriel - Tieria's late father; who passed away not too long after Eleina had met him. It seemed the templar did not muster the strength to throw away her father's old correspondences, and has elected that they are worth keeping.  
Either way, Eleina did not dare to read those either. But the stablemaster caught the sight of certain words written on the back of the envelope by Riordan, which caused her to ponder:

_"To the Ararinai household: Silvermoon City"_

"Why would Riordan have something addressed to Silvermoon?" Wondered Eleina out loud.  
She knew Riordan was a proud man from Lordaeron, and even after the kingdom was destroyed - the blacksmith hoped one day to see it restored to its glory once more. He was also not the most social man, with a very small circle of friends.

But witnessing a letter directed to Silvermoon would mean Riordan had contacts in the sin'dorei capital, and given the aged state of the envelope and the ink, it might have been before the elven race joined the ranks of the Horde. Which made Eleina puzzled since she has never heard neither from Tieria or Caradin about the Adriel household being involved with the elves.

In the end, it mattered not; at least not while Tieria was absent anyway.

Hence, Eleina placed the letter, alongside the rest of the correspondences, in the stack within the chest. The crate was filled with Tieria's belongings; and when she tried to lift it up, Eleina nearly pulled her back muscles. In that moment, the stablemaster wondered if she exaggerated taking that many items with her. Alas, Eleina was certain that the templar would be grateful for her precaution.

"Com'on Jenafur, let's find someone to take this crate and armchair to our house."

* * *

The Black Prince forced himself to continue with his tasks for the remainder of the day; however, it was difficult with so many thoughts occupying his mind: Tieria's condition, Alexstrasza's words from earlier today, and of course, the aggravating situation in Azeroth. The dragon was never the one to have a blank mind, but this was the first time that he was experiencing such a busy and overwhelming state of mind.

Wrathion somehow found the will to push aside everything, and focus on delivering his message to the Lorewalkers, who awaited his and his companions' arrival in Pandaria. And then, he would continue on sending out orders to the Blacktalon agents; both to those scattered throughout the world, as well as the ones present with him in the Ebon Rest.

As he walked out of his chamber, Wrathion had his eyes focused on his own letter which he held in his hands. He analyzed his written words, ensuring that the sentences were well constructed without divulging too many details of his strategy. _(He did not desire to risk being too thorough, should this letter end up in wrong hands)_

The sudden noise of grunting echoes and something being dragged against the stone floor, interrupted Wrathion's reading. He turned to his side to witness who or what caused that loud and irritating noise, only to find a large keg being pushed outside from the kitchen; but the culprit could not be seen.  
The large barrel continued to be pushed however, its dragging sound irritating Wrathion's ears; causing them to twitch lightly like a startled feline.  
After releasing a sigh in annoyance, the Black Prince marched towards the barrel, wishing to unravel who was behind this inexplicable action.

Upon discovering that it was Caradin who was pushing the ale keg into the main hall, Wrathion rolled his eyes. For a short moment, he watched the dwarf grunting and sweating as he moved the barrel inch by inch, before asking what on earth Caradin was on to:

"What do you think you are doing?" Wrathion inquired in an annoyed tone while taking a couple of steps closer to the dwarf and the barrel. The dragon could not think of a single reason as to why Caradin would be pushing a barrel full of ale into the main hallway, but he was certain the reason would be a foolish one.  
Caradin's eyes widened in surprise, clearly, he had not anticipated to find the dragon next to him. He removed himself from the barrel, and as he wiped off the sweat from his forehead, the dwarf spoke:

"I've got a preposition." Began Caradin while lifting his breeches which were slipping down due to his barrel pushing. "I meant tae come ta speak ye about it after… The barrel." He said while nudging his head at the massive wooden container.

Wrathion raised one brow dubiously, he could not picture what sort of preposition it would be, considering it involved a barrel of ale.

"Let us host a party; here, tonight." Spoke Caradin plainly and with confidence in his tone.  
"A party?! And what would we be celebrating exactly? The end of the world?" Wrathion asked sarcastically, and even somewhat loudly, prompting some of the individuals which were present in the hall to gaze upon the dragon.

Wrathion bit on his lower lip when he realized the volume of his voice. He and Caradin remained silent for a minute until they would lose everyone's attention.

"Look lad," Began Caradin once he's ensured less eyes were on him and the dragon. Just to be safe, the dwarf spoke quietly: "These people have had nothing but pain and sorrow piercing their hearts in these past weeks. Let 'em loosen up a tad bit; have some ale, breathe some jokes and laugh. It will lift everyone's spirits, maybe even fill 'em with a bit of hope. Ancestors know we all could use it."

The dwarf paused and directed his gaze upon the barrel, the nail of his left thumb lightly scratching its aged wood. Soon enough, Caradin exhaled a long, exhausted sigh, and his blue eyes gleamed with the sadness he spoke of. He opened his mouth once more, loathing the sentence he breathed:

"And if we are about to have the end of the world - let us have a blast of a night before we die."

Wrathion swallowed heavily; for an indescribable reason the dragon felt pierced by the dwarf's words. His dark head turned around, examining the numerous souls present within the halls of the Ebon Rest. His eyes gazed upon their somber expressions; his brows drew together the longer he gazed upon them.

Caradin had a valid argument: every soldier who was currently was present in the Ebon Rest, was perhaps at their lowest point in life. The defeat at Ny'alotha had a deep impact not only on Azeroth herself, but also the warriors who so selflessly tried to defend her. It certainly affected morale, especially since for weeks after that loss, the soldiers have been sheltering underground while their loved ones were seeking a safe haven.

That particular morale could certainly affect the future battles, strategies and anything else required in order to put an end to the Deep One; thus, the dwarf's argument to host an evening with food and drinks, some light-hearted stories to escape the corruption-infested reality, was in fact a good idea.

"Very well, I will allow it." Declared Wrathion, his voice sounding once again alluring and calm. "With certain restrictions, however:" He raised a finger once he saw Caradin opening his mouth, to ensure the dwarf would not interrupt him. "Ensure nobody goes too far with the liquor, I don't want my agents to be in charge of separating drunk morons, or have this place suffering any sort of damage. Do not set all of the food and beverages that we have - be thoughtful on our resources."

Caradin nodded along to each of the dragon's words, he found his requests agreeable, albeit his parent-like tone was annoying the dwarf. He had hosted many celebrations of such nature; he damn well knew to keep the gathering fun and safe simultaneously.

"Great!" Exclaimed Caradin while clapping his palms and rubbing them in eager excitement. "Then I will proceed with the necessary preparations. Oh, and I have already found a singer between yer agents! We'll have music too!" Said Caradin excitingly whilst chuckling.

* * *

The word of a social gathering being held that evening within the Ebon Rest spread like wildfire. Many were wondering if there was more behind the event, and expressed their confusion to one another, others didn't simply believe that the black dragon would allow it, a few however, were excited and jumped in to aid Caradin with the necessary preparations.

Once dusk settled in Dustwallow Marsh, the event commenced without any delays. It was passive at first; everyone simply lined up to grab a drink in silence, and each race or faction simply grouped themselves to sit around with their own comrades. But a few hours later - once one of the Blacktalon finally mustered the courage to blow out of his flute a light-hearted tune - the energy in the main hall had risen up.

Tol'vir, Iceborn and Horde soldiers began talking between one another; talking about their culture, history, values instead of discussing the Deep One and the Black Empire. The Horde, particularly the orc warriors, taught the others a game of cards and started gambling.

Wrathion's Blacktalon were in charge of ensuring peace and order was kept during the event; but even they allowed themselves to loosen up with some ale and songs _. (some even sneaked away with a handful of bottles of liquor in the steamed bathing room)_

Those who were still injured, regardless of the severity of their wounds, were also welcome to join the event held in the main hall. Some of them joined, such as Maxwell; albeit he only remained seated at one of the tables, the Silver Hand knight seemed to enjoy this time feasting and listening to a lieutenant of the Iceborn army telling stories about proto-drake hunting.

As for the champions of the Black Prince, they attempted to enjoy the evening as well, especially given the fact that they were leaving in two days to their journey to Pandaria.

Haliki was seen among the members of the Horde, playing card games and constantly shouting to raise the stakes; it seemed the Zandalari troll was eager to gamble.  
Lorga and Reghar were also present amidst the Horde members who were playing card games; however, the two shamans simply observed, rather than taking part in the gambles.

Caradin seemed to desire to learn more about _'the brothers from another mother';_ he toasted with the Frostborn; but as the ' _coordinator'_ of the celebration, he was also the one keeping an eye on everyone and everything. Ensuring food and drinks were laid out on the table and order was kept.

Felassan, as very stereotypical of a demon hunter, was simply enjoying his drink in solitude, as he rested by the wall. However, it seemed a kaldorei Blacktalon took a liking in the Illidari, as she was by his side whispering tantalizingly sweet nothings; daringly she even had an arm wrapped around him, despite the fact that Felassan seemed to completely ignore her.

And as for Tieria - she emerged out of her chamber much later into the evening. When Caradin called for her at the beginning of the event, the templar declared she'll join later, after taking a bath.

She wore a long silver tunic, its length ending almost at her knees. A black belt rested a bit above her waist, thus mimicking her tunic into the design of a robe. Nonetheless, she still had a pair of black breeches on her and her leather boots. Instead of her almost-traditional ponytail, Tieria split her hair into two separate tails, pinned on the lower side of her head, giving her a youthful appearance.

The instant Wrathion saw Tieria approach him, the dragon ordered the nearest Blacktalon to bring him another mug of ale. And extended it towards Tieria as soon as she stopped before him.

"Rokash pleaded me to take it lightly on the alcohol, but in all honestly I could drink the entire barrel." Said Tieria while gratefully grabbing the mug.  
"I do not blame you for feeling that way." Jested the Black Prince in a smile. Tieria returned the grin; but it was transparent. Clearly the templar's state of mind had not improved, much like Wrathion expected. And the forced happy tone she made formed a knot in Wrathion's stomach.

 _How much more bad news could the templar take?_ Wondered the dragon _._

"I have to admit, I am surprised that you agreed to this." Said Tieria after taking a sip, with a bit of foam of the ale resting on her upper lip.  
"You do not strike me as a party person?" Purred Wrathion in a chuckle.  
"On the contrary, I think you would be an… _Engaging_ person to have at an event. I just assumed given the situation, you would deny people to spend the precious time in that manner."

"The time _is_ precious." Sighed Wrathion as his eyes surveyed the surrounding souls, cherishing this spirit-lifting event. "But Caradin has made reasonable points: they cannot go on with this battle with sorrow in their hearts; you mortals are delicate without your liquor." His alluring smile made another appearance.  
"Well, I can fairly say on behalf of the mortals: it is very kind of you to host this." Tieria giggled.

As a small silence settled between Wrathion and Tieria, the dragon eyes roamed the templar. The reveal of her losing the essence of the Light had affected the Black Prince, and he could not even begin to imagine how Tieria felt.  
The worst part is that he, and perhaps neither did she, know where this would lead. Would the templar simply accept the loss and fight her future battles in simple armor with a simple sword? Or would she find a way to restore her paladin abilities?

And of course, the Black Prince wondered if this was the appropriate time to confess that it might have been his own actions that resulted in Tieria losing the Light?

"Something wrong?" Tieria's inquiry caused the dragon to break away from his thoughts. He shook his head, as he reassured her:  
"Merely a lot on my mind." Reassured Wrathion, then he gestured towards the celebration occurring in the hall. "Go mingle, try to enjoy this evening, despite all things."  
"You too." Pleaded Tieria softly. "After all, this evening is all about lifting spirits, isn't it?"  
"Yes, it is."

* * *

As the evening marched on, so had the laughter and music in the halls of the Ebon Rest. It seemed such an event was desperately needed, as everyone continued to feast and chat, pretending for only a brief moment that the world was okay.

Nevertheless, not everyone could feel so light-hearted; there were groups, especially among the Tol'vir, who would be discussing the Black Empire.

They would speak of its horror, describing in great detail the power of the Deep One and his minions. There were even hushed whispers which claimed King Phaoris had failed his people, and now hid alongside Speaker Magni in Silithus out of shame.

Initially Wrathion wanted to silence such talks, since this evening was all about having a moment away from the real nightmare. But some of his Blacktalon deemed that would be unwise to forbid certain discussions and could only cause more drama.

So, the dragon bit his tongue and allowed everyone to enjoy the particular evening as they pleased, while he himself decided to take some leisure time by listening to the tales of the Iceborn - provided his own thoughts allowed him.

While the Black Prince, as well as the rest of her comrades, found a manner of savoring this unusual event, Tieria wandered from group to group, unable to find her place.  
She found herself suffocating, and even somewhat ' _misplaced'_ the entire time. The templar desired to go outside, but Wrathion had forbidden to leave the premises of the Ebon Rest whilst the party was taking place. Tieria understood his reasoning, but at that particular moment - she found to be irritated by it, especially since she craved to have a smoke.

Either way, she found the strength to push away the longing of her pipe, and sank in a seat set in a corner of the main hall. And took a sip of what was her third mug of ale.  
However, the templar was interrupted from chugging down her bitter-tasting beverage, by a figure taking a seat next to her.

Tieria's eyes widened in surprise, as she found it was Farseer Lorga sitting by her side. The orc had a stone expression, mixed with annoyance; one would say she felt bored at this gathering, and the mug of ale she had in her hand did not lift her spirits.  
Whatever was her mood or state of mind, the Farseer's sudden appearance caused Tieria to lightly choke on her drink, since the templar rarely interacted with the mighty hero of the Horde and was taken by surprise by her presence next to her.

In truth, Tieria felt quite intimidated by Lorga, and unless the situation would demand it, the templar rarely spoke to the Farseer.  
Not as if she had no interest in conversing with the orc; asking about her origins, opinions, and anything which would unveil the mysterious but mighty mist which surrounded Lorga.

"Not in the mood for a party, Farseer?" Inquired Tieria in a jesting tone, while coughing out the ale which was sitting wrongly in her throat. Lorga's brows furrowed even deeper.  
"Never liked such gatherings." Confessed the Farseer in a weary sigh. "They are always loud and the alcohol dumbs down even the most intelligent mind."  
"The alcohol is the only aspect making them worth attending." Shrugged Tieria whilst taking another gulp of her drink.

"I never enjoyed the Kosh'harg celebrations when I was young either. They were just as loud and suffocating." Lorga stated, her eyes peered at the mass in the hall, drinking and laughing as they split in numerous groups. She caught the sight of Rehgar and Rokash huddled in a group surrounded by taurens, trolls and orcs. Given the wide grins on their lips, it seemed her mate and her son were certainly having a good time conversing with the Horde warriors.

"Kosh'harg?" Repeated Tieria in a butchered accent; she turned to Lorga, whose gaze remained fixed on the crowd as she spoke:  
"It was a biannual event held by the diverse and numerous orcish clans of Draenor, before the Horde was formed. It took place during the spring and the autumn, in honor of the time when day and night are the same length." Explained the orc, her eyes shining as nostalgia filled her aging soul. "It was the only time when clans could put aside their rivalries, share news, foster ties, and feast in friendship."

"That… Sounds quite lovely, in fact." Confessed Tieria while she visualized Lorga's description; perhaps if the races of Azeroth would be smart enough to organize such a tradition, the world would have suffered less.  
However, her trail of thoughts scattered away, when she witnessed Wrathion, who was across the hall, heading towards his private quarters.

"Back then, I wasn't a shaman." Continued the orc, her eyes now resting upon the liquid in her mug as she gently swirled it around.  
"You- You were not born with your shamanic abilities?" Inquired Tieria curiously; she assumed that the alcohol might have loosened the Farseer, causing her to open up. Albeit her behavior, her expression, even her voice, remained all but the same.

"No. I believed I was meant to become the shaman, because I always had visions, but when my uncle, who was one of the Seers of our clan, took me to the Throne of the Elements, the elements of Draenor told me I was not worth having their power."

Lorga's face was painted in an indescribable expression as she spoke; it had a mixture of nostalgia and bitterness, but even a tint of regret. Tieria, curious to hear more about the Farseer, remained quiet, waiting for the orc to continue:

"I did not accept that fate. I marched on, to find a meaning behind my visions and another source to connect to the elements, because I _believed_ I was _meant_ to become a shaman." Lorga paused to let out a long sigh; as if it had a mind on its own - her right hand reached out to caress the bone necklace she always wore around her neck. She gave it a few gentle strokes, before resuming:

"Finding my own fate cost me a lot. I left my clan, my own family to seek Ner'zhul, one of the greatest shamans during our age. It was considered an insult among the Warsong to travel to a different clan, but much like you: I refused to accept a reality where I would not be a shaman."

Tieria inhaled sharply and could not help herself from rolling her eyes; she caught up on the purpose behind this conversation. This was not the Farseer opening up to Tieria in an engaging chat; this was a conversation about the fact that she lost the essence of the Light, thus stripping away from her being a powerful holy knight; and the orc was attempting to comfort Tieria out of pity with tales of morality.

"Is this the part where you tell me that you have prevailed? That against all odds you have found your strength to change your own fate and eventually, I will find mine?" Tieria asked sarcastically, spatting her words with utter bitterness. "Are you about to impose the wisdom that my powers come within me, Farseer? That I am strong even without the Light?"

"I prevailed only a decade later, after losing my entire family, my clan, and even had my race cast into demonic servitude." Replied Lorga, she had a glare directed to the paladin, but her voice remained calm. "And no, I am not about to invent some lies. In fact, I think you are weak; even for a human." The orc declared harshly, causing Tieria to lean back surprised. "You take everything close to your heart, and you constantly find yourself in need to justify your actions to others; such as taking possession of Ashbringer for example."

The templar swallowed hard, unsure how to respond to the quite derogatory statement. She watched silently as Lorga sipped her beverage, completely unaffected by Tieria's discomfort. She couldn't help but feel disoriented.

"There is no moral to what I have just shared with you, Tieria." Lorga resumed to speak, for the first time ever, the templar heard the Farseer pronounce her name. "Although I was never as weak as you, not even when I was a pup - I _have_ experienced that sensation of losing who you are - in the same manner you are feeling now. It's a long and dark path, but even the feeblest soul can emerge out of it, if their mind is set right."

Tieria sank in her seat, her lips dried out from alcohol and her muscle pain was returning. The Farseer was right on that matter: the templar _was_ feeling like she lost herself. One moment ago, she was marching with an army against the Black Empire itself, and in a blink of an eye, she was struck down by the enemy force, and was stripped away from everything which made her a chevalier, and gave her the strength to fight for this world.

Now she had nothing; no Light, no strength, and her hope of recovery dimmed away with each day passing. The little power she did have, was directed towards Wrathion. She charged all of her energy with hope that the Black Prince would succeed in stopping N'zoth.

"I simply want answers." Sighed Tieria weary, fighting back her tears. "A way to fix…" She gestured at herself as she breathed out exhaustingly: " _This_."  
"I know." Nodded Lorga in an uncharacteristic soft tone. "And there is no being in the world aside from yourself, who can find those answers."

Tieria grunted lightly, perhaps there was a deeper meaning to everything Lorga had said. But the templar felt so exhausted and overwhelmed, that she refused to acknowledge them. She couldn't shake off the feeling of suffocating, and she felt a migraine rising from the chattering happening around her.

The templar chugged down whatever remained of her ale; in that moment she simply wanted some peace and quiet, perhaps even to lay down to ease her aching muscles and that annoyance of a migraine.

As Tieria rose out of the seat, her eyes softened once she looked at Lorga. Even without any explanation, the Farseer understood that the templar's condition had worsened, thus she bid Tieria farewell with a nod of her head, and watched as she left for Wrathion's chamber.

* * *

The moment she entered the Black Prince's quarters, Tieria spotted Wrathion standing across the room, daydreaming as he gazed into the lit fireplace.

The light of the fire accentuated his frown and his thinly pressed lips, he leaned into his arm which rested on the shelf of the fireplace, while the other hand was curled in a fist. He looked lost in thoughts and smeared with regret. His stone expression alarmed Tieria, making her pace rather quickly to his side.

She hissed lightly, but ignored her muscles aching, whilst calling for him:

"Wrathion, are you alright? You seem distressed." Her soft voice caused Wrathion to break away from the tantalizing thoughts which eclipsed his mind. His gaze softened once they made eye contact and the dragon shook his head lazily at the templar; mutely reassuring the templar that he was well.

Then, Tieria slowly dragged her body closer to Wrathion and opened her arms to gently wrap them around his waist; pressing their bodies tightly against one another. A short smirk appeared on the dragon's lips as he returned the embrace. His hand found its way to reach out to cup her cheek, with his nail he gently trailed the line of her lower lip.

"The party is not to your liking?" Inquired Tieria teasingly.  
"This party was not intended for me, thus I never planned on remaining there for the entire night." Confessed the Black Prince whilst continuing to caress her. "My Blacktalon can keep order there, I have some tasks I have to get to."  
"Well, allow me to keep you company then." Purred the templar while tightening her grip around him. Seemed like being in the presence of the Black Prince was the only thing that allowed her to be in a better mood.

However, his brows suddenly snapped together, and the smile washed away. Something was eating him inside out, causing the unsettling silence between the templar and the dragon. Nonetheless, Wrathion continued to stroke Tieria cheek; but something about his touch felt… _cold_ to her.

"There was a particular matter I wish to speak to you about." Wrathion finally broke the silence. "I could never find the appropriate time for it, especially given your… State; But since we are leaving in less than two days, I feel obligated to speak about it now."  
"Oh, if this is about the Pandaria expedition, I am well aware that I cannot join you. I'd be deadweight." Tieria scoffed bitterly while pulling away from the embrace.  
"That… Yes; I am afraid given your health condition - having you join us in the search of the Forge might complicate our journey; but that is not what I wish to discuss." Declared the Black Prince.  
"What is it then?" She inquired softly and curiously.

Wrathion released a light grunt at first. Before retrieving his hand from her, he pushed a couple of her brown hair strands behind her ear.  
"Even without the Light, you will remain a remarkable warrior; one that can set my heart on fire. But that fire, while kindles warmness I have never experienced, ultimately cannot be ignited forever."

His words cut away Tieria's breath; she took a step back, wishing that she misunderstood his intentions. But she couldn't help herself from asking:  
"Are you-?"  
"This… Affair between us has to cease." Interrupted Wrathion in a monotone voice; if there was a tint of regret in him, the Black Prince did an excellent job in sheathing it. "A dragon being involved with a mortal is a dangerous concept; one I cannot involve myself in anymore if I am to become the Earth-Warder."

"These thoughts have been surging within you for a while, haven't they?" Tieria asked in a whisper; she felt tears forming in her eyes but the templar fought them back. But ultimately, one managed to slip away, and stream down her pale cheek once Wrathion gave her a slow nod. "And you think this is the appropriate time to confess this?"  
"The right time would have never dawned, Tieria." He replied in a hush.

"This is not personal-" Wrathion began defending his decision, hoping that it would wipe away some of Tieria's pain; but it only caused her features to harden  
"I've heard it before, Wrathion: _"You are an enchanting being, but duty always comes first._ "" Tieria bitterly repeated Thom's last words before their separation. "And perhaps you truly mean it… But my heart refuses to acknowledge it. It simply accepts it as a pathetic excuse."

The Black Prince remained silent by her response; his face expressed as if she stabbed him. Tieria licked her lips and forced a smile, ignoring her teary eyes and heavy heart.  
"I suppose what we had was too good to be true." She breathed out wiping away her tears.

So much has occurred in the past few days that the templar felt that she lost the sense of reality. In that moment, all she could feel was utter loneliness and powerlessness.

She found loss at words and it seemed so did the dragon; thus, Tieria simply elected to take her leave. Her hand reached out to take Wrathion's hand and give it a gentle squeeze before retracting it back. Her smile remained, but the Black Prince did not smile back. Instead, he blinked silently at Tieria; his gaze filled with a shine of guilt and pity, which only added salt to the templar's sentimental wounds.

Her heart desired to hear something more from him, instead of hearing a different manner of the same sentence of her former lover. Alas, the dragon continued to be silent, as if someone cut away his ability to speak. It made Tieria bitter, leaving a bad aftertaste in her mouth.

"In another life perhaps…" Was the last thing Tieria whispered before walking away from Wrathion. He swallowed heavily, but remained in his spot, not even turning his head to the templar who was now by the door, with her hand on one of its handles. Tieria turned to Wrathion, wondering if the Black Prince had anything else to say.

Those few moments she waited felt like eternity to her, and the weight of her heart increased the longer she stared at the back of his head. Silently she left Wrathion's chamber, gently closing the door behind her.

Wrathion shut his eyes and took in a deep breath once the templar was no longer present. He felt a chill running through his spine, and the fire next to him failed to warm up the dragon.  
The image of Tieria, lacking a smile on her rose lips, with tears streaming down her soft cheeks, and her eyes brushed with hopelessness, played in his mind. Wrathion was well aware that the sorrowful expression of the templar would haunt his dreams, but ultimately, he knew that their separation had to be done.


End file.
